


At the Edge of Misery

by Iden_Shelby



Series: Fear the Walking Dead | T. Otto [1]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Enemies to Friends, Explicit Language, F/M, Family Issues, Graphic Description, Harassment, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Manipulation, Post-Apocalypse, Racism, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-05-20 09:12:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 56,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19373686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iden_Shelby/pseuds/Iden_Shelby
Summary: Cristine Daya Gerrard, a young residency doctor in the apocalypse must mend the pieces with her broken and estranged family, while fighting for her place in a community that doesn't accept her. One man in particular does his best to make sure that she leaves the Ranch, but Cristine isn't someone who goes out without putting up a fight. She finds a way to make herself irreplaceable for Broke Jaw Ranch, so that she remains safe and alive from the threats not only outside, but inside the supposedly safe walls.First half of the story takes place shortly after the start of the apocalypse. Later on events from season 3 will be cooperated in this story, but with added background to certain scenes.PSA: English is not my native language, so I apologize in advance for any spelling/grammar errors. Constructive criticism, however, is  more than welcome ;)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read! 
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

Heat licked at her sunburnt face and coiled around her body like a hot-blooded snake trapping its prey. The scorched sand shimmered in the intense rays of the sun and set up a disorienting haze. Her cap cocooned her head in warm sweat with each unstable step as the parched heat burnt at her lungs. No one would be crazy enough to move in this penetrating heat unless they were desperate.

Cristine was very desperate

In the end, even her meticulous planning and preparation for this long trip paled in comparison to the unforeseen events in this depraved 'new' world. The frown between her eyebrows accentuated the distress inside her eyes and bloomed forth into a arduous scowl on her lips. The shift in her slightly reddened face felt tighter than usual and it hurt to even open her mouth.

Cristine took shelter underneath the bony construct of a naked desert tree surrounded by some patches of grass and tumbleweeds. Her presence startled the lizards who immediately hid in the crevices of the rocks where it was safe and not as hot. While the shade wasn't large enough for her, Cristine barely had any energy to lament her misfortune. It was a lot better than the harsh beating heat on her back. She slid her backpack from her shoulders and put it next to her. She crossed her left leg inward over her right thigh while the other leg remained stretched.

A shaky breath shuddered through her nose while she carefully slipped off her left boot. The throbbing pain intensified as the constriction began to ease from her foot and she immediately winced when the sticky cloth wrapped and mended around her sole slowly tugged at her damaged skin. Cristine momentarily stopped with her movements, took in a large breath and through clenched teeth slid off her walking shoe.

She examined the foot injury, her dry and flaky lips curiously parted from one another at the horrendous sight of the dirty colored bandage and her reddish brown feet. Sand and grit had become enmeshed with raw flesh of the opened up wounds were spotted with blood. It was going to be very painful to clean, but Cristine could already imagine the infection that would come with it if she kept walking.

She wasn't going to lose her foot.

Cristine rolled both her shoulders uncomfortably when she became conscious of the sweat that trickled down her neck and back, free falling like spilled water from a glass. It beaded on her forehead and dropped from her chin. Some went under her arms into her clothes, announcing her body's attempt at maintaining the right temperature by cooling itself down.

Pulling up her nose, Cristine unzipped her backpack and fished out her bright red emergency kit. The forcefully popped blisters stung heavily as a result of sand grains and tissue shearing. "Damn it!" She softly cussed under her breath at the severity of her wounds and opened the medium sized kit. She started with the fixating task of disinfecting open wounds with antiseptic, puncturing the swollen ones that looked bad and cleaned her foot as a whole with a damp cloth. Lastly, she covered her foot with an island dressing to protect the blisters as they heal by themselves.

Deciding to take advantage of the rare shade, Cristine left her foot out in the open for as much air exposure as possible before she'd resume her journey. The snarling and gnawing of her stomach intertwined with her pulsating foot in painful waves as though it was slowly digesting itself. Cristine clutched at it, hoping that the pinch would silence it but to no avail. Feeling drained and empty, Cristine rummaged through her bag again and took out the last of her water bottle.

The hard, light blue plastic was lukewarm to the touch and filled by just a quarter. The burning sensation in Cristine's throat grew all of a sudden and she grasped how thirsty she really was. "Almost two days..." She muttered to herself, thinking back over the last time she drunk anything. She tried to wet her rough lips by licking them, tasted salty perspiration, dry and blotched flesh and came to the conclusion that she had to hydrate and hope for a miracle in the coming hours.

Having made her decision, Cristine began to twist the top open, only to be shocked by the bottle contents exploding into her face. What startled her more was the loud ring and her senses sharpened in a mini second. Cristine threw herself against the tree trunk and took out her handgun. She breathed hard and with adrenaline rushing through her tensed body strained her ears to listen.

The wind howled, insects chaotically chirped and the loud bang of the discharged bullet reverberated into silence. Then, she heard the low, but heavy humming of a large vehicle, a truck perhaps? There was the distinct sound of a few voices and the cocking of rifles. Cristina tried to quickly glance from behind the tree, but a second shot burst through the barren wood and shattered in multiple splinters close to her face.

She only had three-, maybe four bullets left with a pathetic cover. She frustratingly hit the back of her head against the trunk and cussed at her momentarily lapse of focus. That was all it took nowadays, a second, a blink of the eye or catching your breath to tend to your ripped open foot!

"Throw everything you have away and we won't hurt you." A calm voice, clearly male, ordered making Cristine suck in a desperate breath through her teeth. She helplessly shook her head as if responding to his command.

If that was actually true, why shoot at her... twice? The first warning shot Cristine could understand, but the second shot was clearly meant to blow her brains out.

"Listen," Cristine began in a voice that was so raspy, it hurt to talk from how parched her throat was and how hard she panted. "I'm just passing through... looking for someone. Not here for trouble."

"Neither are we, but we can't let a stranger go any further than this. It's best if you look elsewhere sweetheart."

Cristine felt a dull pang in her left leg, but ignored it when she heard people advancing after a pause from the other side. She slowly pulled down the hammer of her gun, shut her eyes and decided to send out a warning shot herself.

"Don't move!" From her right, the hot iron muzzle of a rifle on the side of her head.

Cristine panted and the rush she had frayed to the quick. Internally she elaborated her rationalizations for why everything would turn out alright, but the nagging voice in the very back of her mind spoke of nothing but doom and death ahead.

_"Why did I even come to this place? Because of some stupid coin flip? I don't even know if he- if they're alive."_

"I said drop the gun! Or it'll be the last thing you ever remember touching." One of her captors threatened and this time received the muzzle against her temple.

Cristine didn't dare risk a glance at the hostile man and released her weapon from its well fitted hold and lifted both arms. After her surrender, a handful of people in fattigues flanked them from either side.

Then, the person Cristine assumed was the leader and ordered her to yield stood straight in front of her. Even with her head lowered, from underneath her lashes she felt his perusing stare on her prostrated form.

One of his men checked the amount of bullets inside her gun before he stowed it on his hip, inside an empty holster, and went to empty her bag. He went through what was left of her stuff.

It wasn't much, as someone stole most of her canned food and bottled water during the trip. Her only belongings were a set of journals, a few which she wrote and another she used as a map to this place. She also owned two blades; a Bowie for hunting and a combat knife. The last thing was her first aid emergency kit.

 

"You from the border?" The man in command possessed an unnervingly strict tune while questioning her. 

"San Francisco."

His crony that held her under gun point whistled, seemingly impressed by her arduous trip, and chuckled. "Awfully long trip if you ended all the way here. How's it up there?"

"The military burned the place down. Further down is pretty much the same everywhere; abandoned, looted and roaming with infected." Cristine gave as much information as she could as clearly and swiftly as possible to appease these men, who were clearly no soldiers, but in no way amateurs.

"Were you in a group?" Cristine heard the scribble of a pen and scratched her throat before carefully giving her answer.

"Not anymore, we got separated."

"How many?"

"Six; a family of four, a doctor and me."

"Did you look for them?"

"Tried, but the infected were packed in the area, so I couldn't stay for long."

"What brought you all the way down to good ol' San Diego? You said you were looking for someone and that we'd maybe seen him... or her?"

Cristine sensed the shift in the air when one of the soldier, still hunched through his knees playing with her unsheathed hunting knife. The corner of her lips twitched when she saw this and tried to keep her emotions under control.

"Yeah my family... I think my father and sister might've passed through here. There's a picture of them in my back pocket. Maybe you've seen them?" 

Feeling her uncertainty grow and her composure waver, Cristine slowly, but gradually lifted her quivering lashes and finally had eye contact with the rather young looking leader. He didn't seem much older than she was, the faint traces of boyhood still on his easy smile. Dark curly brown hair, a very light beard that veiled his faded sideburns and cocked blue eyes.

While striking in color, it wasn't his eyes that made Cristine's scalp tingle, but what was inside them. They were neutral and at the fringe of something she couldn't quite explain. She'd seen many eyes up close, even those of the dead. But inside this person's gaze lurked an emotion- or lack thereof that send chills up her spine.

 _"I need to get the hell away."_ Cristine concluded when the young leader of this equally young group looked at his soldier that held her under gun point.

Cristine deeply inhaled when the muzzle left her temple and felt his hand slip into her pocket, not missing how he unnecessarily squeezed her behind. With no choice but to accept the unwanted assault, Cristine let it happen and kept her dark brown orbs on the man towering above her.

Cristine felt like a deer between a pack of adolescent lions who were learning and adapting to their new environment. As if she was just another prey they had to practice on to gain wit and experience to hunt as full grown lions.

Their pack leader didn't seem to care about her story, that was crystal clear. He remained eerily quiet after he wrote her answers down and after a while put his journal away.

It was as if he was indulging her, and gave her the impression of having a way out in this situation if she behaved.

"If you haven't..." Cristine calmly began and motioned at the folded image now in the man's hand. "I'll be on my way... and look for them elsewhere."

She finished the last sentence with as much vigor as possible when he decided to look at the picture. Instead of a brief glance to probably appease her last plea, the dark brown haired captain actually stared at the picture of her family. The ambiguous air around his body fluctuated for a second time. His body posture looked more relaxed and interested than before. A chuckle of pure delight and incredulity escaped his mouth.

"Wow... this is surprising." He said amazed and a light grimace flashed across his lips only for it to be replaced by pure bewilderment again.

His reaction only reinforced Cristine's conviction that he'd definitely come across her family. Only, was the encounter a hopeful or fatal one? Cristine couldn't quite guess from his attitude and didn't ask. Feeling the blood vigorously pump through her ears, he suddenly looked back at her and flashed an ambiguous smirk.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to bring you to your daddy... It's just that he'll have a lot of explaining to do to the people there."

Cristine furrowed her brows, but before she could ask for clarification, a harsh pain that started from the back of her skull shocked through her head. For her time seemed to slow down when falling and Cristine didn't know if she cried out or not. Her ears rung and her brains shook from the merciless impact.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read! 
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

Cristine felt her consciousness float through an empty space filled with thick static. Throughout the inky space her heartbeat pounded loudly, echoing in her ears, alongside the fading droning of an engine. Her drained body shut down a few times, until she woke up in between short intervals. Still in a deep stupor and with speckled colors floating through her world. Cristine heard talking and from squinting her eyes together, puzzled together a handful of silhouettes. 

Her reactions were prolonged and she tried to slowly move into a sitting position on the cot. Still in a state of disorientation, Cristine grunted when something cold pressed against the back of her head. She sluggishly searched for the helping presence to her right and blinked dazedly at the elderly woman with the clean face and a sheepish smile on her thin lips. 

Cristine's eyes rolled to the back of her head when she unconsciousness reeled her back in again. She missed how that same smiling face scrunched into something visibly irked. "Even when it's the end of the world, you still manage to ruin our lives." The woman unpleasantly hissed under her breath. 

—

The second time Cristine woke up she felt slightly more alert. The main reason probably being that she actually slept and felt that her body overcame the shock of dehydration and starvation. Only, she found her hand tied at the wrist against the railing of the medical bed. Cristine moved her head around to scan her surroundings and tensed when she came face to face with a familiar individual.

The map of wrinkles on his face told the most incredible journey. His eye lines told of laughter, of warm smiles and affection. His forehead told of worries past and worries present. Despite not its original rich blond color, most of his graying hairs were still lush, intact and styled in the way she remembered. 

Her guarded expression lightly faltered before she whispered a soft, "daddy." 

A dimpled smile appeared on his face when she called out for him in that vulnerable tone. He closed the awkwardly short distance between them and spontaneously wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, gently rubbing her back. 

Despite the heaviness in her heart, it fluttered at the feeling of being in her father's arms after such a long time. She sunk her face into the warmth of his shoulder, appreciative of the embrace. His touch made her feel alive and worthy somehow, her future within the world seeming a little less bleak.

"I-I didn't think... think you'd actually be here." Cristine carefully admitted in the crook of his shoulder and blinked back the pressure behind her lids. 

His arms squeezed her upper body tightly for the last time and James Garrard lamented at her body's clear loss of weight that had become unhealthy. He slowly put some distance between them and looked at the daughter he thought he'd never see again.

The sunburn had scarred the bare spots of her skin such as her chest, neck and face. Her usual sandy complexion, smooth and tawny was damaged by the sun. The flushed and dry patches on her exposed skin were either red or pigmented and exposed the trauma of her long travel in the scorching heat. At the same time, she had also gotten a tan, which resulted in a strong terra-cotta, brown. Either way, it told the story of her arduous travel.

James almost sadly smiled at her, as a sense of nostalgia flickered through his eyes. "You still found me." He said after printing her features in his mind as if it would be the last time he could. "Even if it is under these circumstances." 

Cristine forced an equally weak willed smile before she dropped her brown eyes that had bags and dark circles underneath them. As a distraction, she rubbed the tight cuff around her left wrist and hesitated to explain the difficulty of her actions both before and after the fall of mankind. Cristine didn't want to say the wrong things and wrapped her free arm around his neck again before she clenched her eyes together. "I found you, that's all that matters now daddy. 

Seemingly pleased by her words and actions, James felt his shoulders relax as the expression of relief flooded through his face. 

While in the comfort of her father's sturdy body, Cristine reopened her bloodshot eyes and spotted two familiar faces at the entrance of the infirmary. Her mood flipped and turned dour, but she immediately pushed the feeling down and ended the heartfelt hug with her father when the two women walked up to them.

The one leading was a middle aged woman well in her late fifties, with the strong presence of someone who could still run an army kitchen given half a chance. She stood quite tall and slim, her wavy blond hair neatly styled on her shoulders. Surprisingly, her face was made up with discrete make-up except for her nude lips. Were she any paler her mouth would be garish, but against her healthy skin it looked just right.

In tow was an equally slender, but younger woman in her late teens. She had a fresh face with the charming smile of her father and wore a shy look that was never morose. Always behind those slightly pursed lips and bright blue eyes was a smile just waiting to be tempted out. Her long, straight blonde hair cascaded down the full length of her torso. Her features were the perfect blend of her mother's femininity and father's handsomeness. 

The typical pretty girl next door.

Like Cristine the two stared, but they did it as if she produced the head of an infected from her pocket. It was easy to imagine the sparks in their brain, desperately trying to connect the dots and just circuiting. Cristine felt uncomfortable and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, not bothering to hide how she felt. 

"Gosh, Cristine... you're alive!" Her half-sister, Hailey, finally piped up and carefully hugged her in a manner that was neither warm or cold. It was as if she greeted a long-time acquaintance instead of her older sister. Cristine hummed in a tune of acknowledgement and flicked her gaze in the direction of her father and then at Hailey's mother, her stepmother, Dolores.

"It's good to see you save and well Cristine. We heard everything, it must've been hard on you traveling all the way here knowing what's happened around the country." Unlike her daughter's excessive hug, Dolores simply rubbed her shoulder and pursed her lips up into a pitying smile.

"I guess I was lucky that your militia found me when they did." Cristine answered, too exhausted to elaborate and almost regretted coming here, until she felt her father squeeze her thigh.

"You rest Birdie, I'll go and ask someone to remove those cuffs for you. You must be starving. Dolores do you think you can ask Kerry to fix something up for Cristine?"

"Of course. Hailey you keep your sister company for a bit." 

"Okay mom."

When Dolores and James left, the two half siblings shared a long and painful silence. Cristine didn't mind it as much as Hailey it seemed, as the latter grabbed a chair and placed it near the bed. Her eyes pricked into her skin and after a while, Cristine looked the younger girl straight in the eye. 

Hailey flinched and for a mini second moved her gaze elsewhere, before she collected her courage and asked the burning question on loop in her mind. 

"How did you know we'd be here? We left way before any of this happened." 

A shadow shifted over Cristine's roughed up face before she bit the inside of her cheek and steadily rotated her jaw. 

"It was one of the last messages he left one my cellphone." Cristine answered and didn't miss the faint look of surprise on Hailey's face. She coldly scoffed, "it was short, but he said that city life wasn't for him and rambled on and on about keeping some pact he made years ago." 

"Despite how crazy everything turned out, dad is actually better off in this place. I've watched him and he's happy. He doesn't have to pretend or feel guilty anymore. He's trying to fix his wrongs and mostly helps the militia with security. I think he made the right choice bringing us here. Even more so now." Hailey explained softly, but as clearly as she could. 

Cristine, on the other hand, could only connect the many hidden jabs in Hailey's so called breakdown on the situation. In the end she had to stop gnawing at her cheeks and gums when she tasted a little iron. 

"I agree, no one could've predicted what would happen and daddy's made the right call. It's just that, If he really wanted to fix everything, and I mean everything, he could've told me when he was sober and not on the day the world went crazy." 

"That's not fair Cristine and you know it!" Hailey argued back in an accusing tone and pointed at the entrance of the door. "You were the one that left us. This has been building up for decades and you were the fuse that ignited it all when you did what you did. Mom and dad kept arguing about it and this apocalypse straightened out everyone's top priority, to live."

"Don't you dare act holier than thou, as if you had no part in any of it!" Cristine spat back at the irony of Hailey's words as the last piece of doubt vanished from her mind.

"I can't believe I came all the way here and actually worried about them!" 

"I've always been impartial in all of this and like it or not, you are my sister Cristine." Hailey's voice cracked while she rubbed at the corners of her reddened eyes. 

Cristine wanted to return the sarcastic remark with one of her own, but her words were cut short when the flap of the infirmary was pulled open together with a throat scratching cough. 

The Garrard sisters looked in the direction of the entrance and to their surprise, the young leader of the Broke Jaw Ranch militia entered. In his hands, he carried a tray filled with food and some water. 

Hailey literally jumped from her seat and greeted him with a bright smile. "Troy, hi... umh you missed my dad, he just left." She softly explained and curiously eyed his tactical vest that bulged from his torso. Despite it being a necessity for his scouting, it looked heavy and she dare say uncomfortable. 

Hailey's gaze climbed up so she could properly make eye contact with the person, who held her father in high regards. Mainly due to his status as a co-founder of the Ranch and more so his military background and knowledge. She held back her smile from growing when Troy acknowledged her presence with a faint nod. 

"I know. My father wanted to talk to your parents. Your mom asked me to bring this." Troy's voice was steady, but Hailey noticed the pressured tone behind his words. As if he was unwilling to perform such a menial task. 

Hailey feigned naivete and with her ever presently pursed lips stepped sideward to clear up his line of sight. A suspicious Cristine looked at her when she took it upon herself to introduce the two. 

"Right. Thanks, that should be for my sister. You guys weren't formally introduced to each other yet. Cristine, this is Troy." Hailey tipped her head in the direction of the even tempered man hovering behind her. "He's the one in charge of the Ranch' Militia and security." 

Hailey looked at the equally chary Troy, not surprised to see his uncovered indifference towards her half-sister and went on with the not so pleasant pleasantries. 

"Troy, this is my sister Cristine." Hailey finished before she rocked her body sideways and nibbled in her lower lip. "Thanks for bringing her back to us. It must've been a hard decision, knowing that there are so many people crossing the border and stuff."

After a long, pensive stare Troy's eyes strayed away from the leery Cristine and onto the civilized Hailey. Like chalk and cheese, the two couldn't be any different from each other. Not only in physical traits, but more so personality wise. 

Troy returned Hailey's smile with a cheeky one of his own and said jokingly. "If I hadn't seen your family picture, I'd never guessed you were related. Heck I don't think we would've let her go. Too many anomalies and protecting our people comes first." 

His words were malicious and very straight to the point. Alarm bells rang inside Cristine's mind, even more from seeing the male and female interacting with each other in such a cryptic way.

"Here, she must be hungry." Troy handed the tray over to Hailey without sparing said person a second glance. 

Hailey's previous dour mood from arguing significantly cleared when she asked Troy, "right, I don't know if my dad asked you, but he was looking for the key to undo the handcuffs. Could you..."

"Not yet. From what she's told us, she's been out there for a while and we need to check if she's stable enough to walk around the Ranch." 

"She's named Cristine and she's sitting right here." A powerfully hoarse voice crashed down the two's 'tender' moment. In her tone, specks of annoyance and ridicule were intertwined.

"That being said, she's also hungry. So you can leave the food here and mind your business outside. I don't want to intrude."

A light frown settled between Troy eyebrows, one Hailey didn't miss, and she put her hand on his arm to calm him. "She's been through a lot outside, more than most of us... it's not worth it to respond."

Troy scoffed at her words and took a step backwards, avoiding Hailey's touch and hardened his tone again. "You know the rules." With his last words, Troy flashed Cristine a mocking smile before leaving.

After standing there for a while, Hailey sighed somewhat in relief now that Troy was gone. Even if her relationship with her sister was strained, Cristine was still family and Troy... wasn't. It was family code and her father warned her multiple times not to socialize with the youngest Otto brother too much. 

It was just that...Hailey didn't want Cristine to ruin what she, her mother and father had finally build on Broke Jaw Ranch. So she simply used Troy's status to her advantage to make her sister understand what she was in for if she decided to stir the pot. 

"Don't feel guilty now, it's always been each girl for herself." Hailey's shoulders tensed and looked over her shoulder at the physically haggard, but always perceptive Cristine.

Her deep pools of dark cinnamon swirls seized the depth and heaviness of one thousand untold stories, which imprisoned the sweetness of saccharine chocolate and the bitterness of strong coffee. They consisted of raw emotion and upon a closer look rarely revealed the exact thought that crossed the marvels of her agile mind. 

Cristine shook her head and marveled at her younger sister's selfishness. Even when the world turned upside down and the dead rose, Hailey still had the habit to wrap others around her fingers at her expense. 

"Don't worry. I knew what kind of place I stepped in the moment they caught me. You didn't have to spell it out for me with that 'tender moment'. I know when I'm not welcome. I'll be gone before Dolores convinces them to make me." 

Without so much as a word or denial, Hailey set down the tray on Cristine's lap and stood opposite of her for a while. Finally finding the courage to say what's burning on her tongue, her mouth opened. "You... you won't feel comfortable here. I'm just looking out for you sis."

"..." Cristine pulled the plastic tray closer on her lap and began to eat and drink in silence. Tasting the rich, natural flavors of an actual meal, slowly abated her negative feelings. She ate a moderate pace with little bites as to not upset her already sensitive stomach. 

"It tastes really good."

Please leave a comment if you like my story and character so far.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

It's been six days since then. And what was meant to be a joyous family reunion turned out to be a foolish mistake on Cristine's part. Apart from her father, she wasn't received in a very hospitable manner by the majority of the Survivalists. 

Being James Garrard's eldest child resulted in many funny looks. It was as if she was an infected that'd infiltrated the Ranch and was hard to get rid of. 

An intruder.

It wasn't as if Cristine hadn't tried to leave. On the contrary, that same night she asked Hailey to help her do just that. Being naive as usual, Hailey wanted to ask Troy for help. Cristine urged her not to tell anyone, not even Dolores or their father and just blame it on her getting tricked. 

These Ranch people didn't trust her and they had every right to. She wouldn't trust a stranger either, but Cristine soon noticed that their distrust leaned more towards bigotry than anything else.

At first, Cristine was astounded by her discovery and the things people would worry about while the dead rose again.

Presently, the term "killer" wasn't only reserved for psychopaths. If the killing was done for means of survival no-one thought less of you. There were those that took life and crumpled under the weight of guilt, even if they'd no choice. There were some who killed when necessary and never lost a wink of sleep over it, that's pretty much where Cristine was at both mentally and morally.

There were also those who have made it a whole new lifestyle, look at them the wrong way and they attacked with lethal force. If something belonged to them, felt you owed them your existence, they'd turn into something worse than the dead. 

This last group were the only ones considered murderers now. The term killer applied to Cristine as much as it did to a wolf. Killing in self-defense was just a given now. Killing for resources a grey area, and until now she's never done it, there were times she felt tempted to and wouldn't judge the people that did. 

But the murderers, the real threats finally roamed free with the chaos of the world. Cristine had met her share of such people. By herself, in a group, and then that community... they even seemed to increase as the consequences of their actions were usually minimal and nonexistent.

And while the racist preppers on Broke Jaw Ranch wouldn't think twice of casting her out, Cristine spat over their priorities. These sheep literally had nothing better to do with their spare time on the farm than eyeballing her as if she was something other.

What if this place got overrun?

Those were the only thoughts that ran through Cristine's mind at the time. Even before the undead, Cristine always imagined the worst in people. It was just in their livelihood; in their nature to act selfish and protect themselves from the things that weren't according to the norm.

Cristine personally learned this the hard way, but she eventually did. The Apocalypse taught her more and that's how she was able to survive until now. How she planned her simple, but foolproof escape. 

Disappear as swiftly and stealthily as possible. Even if her father was here, this place would never be a home. She'd done it once before and got over it fairly quick. 

It almost worked. 

Cristine overestimated her and Hailey's sisterly bond, but the latter actually ended up spilling her plan from A to Z to not one, but two Otto members. She thought that, "they would understand and be willing to help her get past the guards." Thinking back, Cristine shook her head still a bit flabbergasted as the vexation shifted past her brown eyes. 

The oldest brother, Jake, began to reassuringly explain to her that, while it might be a challenge to fit in, Cristine was welcome to stay on the Ranch if she was willing to contribute. Jake also told her how her father vouched for her in front of everyone. She was a welcomed family member.

"Your skillset and knowledge as a doctor will certainly be a benefit to our community. There are a handful of medics and nurses from who, I think you can exchange knowledge with." Jake was very calm, reasonable and diplomatic in comparison to his militant and armed younger brother standing next to him. 

Troy interjected with an unkind and scummy grin. "She clearly doesn't want to stay Jake." A look of disdain settled in his narrowed eyes as he provocatively said the next words. "Probably heading back to that so called group she separated from with the intention of-"

"Troy!" Jake yelled at his younger brother, who in turn shook his head and skeptically sneered. At least his older brother's reprimand worked, as Troy didn't say a thing.

"You're free to go, but we have to make sure that when you decide to, there aren't any risks for the Ranch." 

Cristine hadn't said anything, but with the exhaustion beating on her body, it looked as if she earnestly pondered over Jake's explanation. After a pregnant pause, she exhaled shakily. 

Then- 

Cristine unexpectedly bolted in the direction of the fences. Her feet pounded on the steady soil with all the grace of a three legged horse. Her rasping throat was as parched as a dead lizard in the desert sun. Her head bobbed loosely from side to side with each footfall and her eyes felt heavy in their sockets. 

She heard cussing behind her as heavy footsteps drew closer and closer. A blurry shade of a tall figure closed in from behind her. 

Hailey's high-pitched yell also increased in volume. The signs were there and Cristine would be damned if she stayed in this place longer than usual. 

She wasn't a slow runner, but compared to her pursuers, with an injured foot, she was too slow. Just as the distance between her and the fence decreased, in the dead of the night, strong fingers brushed against her ripped sleeve. Cristine maneuvered out of his reach and sucked in a breath to prepare her desperate climb over the fence. 

Then, something sharp burst through her lower left leg, followed by the familiar echo of a discharged bullet. Cristine's leg stopped functioning and she fell face down on the ground. A cry of surprise then pain ripped from her roughed up throat, before she clutched at her shin and felt a hot sticky liquid pouring out. 

"Oh my god Cristine!"

"What the hell Troy, she wouldn't make it! Put the gun away!"

"Couldn't take the risk-"

"Cris- Cristine! No, Cris, a-are you okay?!! Sh- She's bleeding! A- A lot! Help! HELP HER!"

"Shit, we need to get her to the infirmary! Troy! She's down! Put the damn gun down and get help!"

 

-

Present 

 

Cristine cupped her hands inside the bowl of clear water before she splashed it on her evened out face. Stretching her hunched over body away from the sink, she peered at the perfect imitation doing the same. Her plump lips were pulled into a faint arch. Today, her mood significantly eased from the image of her recovered skin. Her sandy complexion had finally recovered its naturally rich and dewy brown glow. 

Cristine relished in the essence of the cold droplets stuck against her evened out face. Afterwards, she brushed her teeth and took an early shower. 

Just as Cristine finished dressing in some simple clothing, a steady knock on the front door brought her back in a state of vigilance. While she repeated the motion of opening and closing her hands, Cristine waited. 

Until-

"Come on Birdie, I know you're already up and running. Martha told me someone already prepped the infirmary for today... again" 

Cristine's sighed, somewhat relieved it was her father, as she expected trouble so early in the afternoon. She took her makeshift crutch and slowly ambled in the direction of the door. 

While the gunshot to her leg hadn't left any acute bone or tissue damage, it would still take a bit for it to heal and function like before. She felt lucky to not have met with worse. 

Just as she opened the door, a red object was thrown her way in a perfect arch. Surprised, Cristine caught the bright, round object and examined the big, juicy apple gripped inside her hand. 

"Kerry told me that when she went to get the basket to pick the fruits for today, it was already filled up."

"Really?" Cristine asked with feigned curiosity and her heart warmed from his charming smile. She motioned for him to come in. 

James casually entered the single lodging and his eyes skimmed around the minimalistic room with the basic equipment. There was a bed, desk, oil lamp, chair and shielded cubicle for the simple shower and sink in the back. 

Despite him wanting to arrange something better and nearby for his daughter, Cristine declined and was more than grateful for the, to her, luxurious room. It's the best she had in days, weeks maybe. She didn't mind that it was further away from the rest, as it gave her the peace and quiet to do her own thing. 

A heavy laden sigh couldn't help but escape from James's mouth at the moment. With the lamenting respire, the wrinkles in his face significantly increased. 

"I'm a big girl daddy, don't worry about the petty stuff." The sudden sigh was quickly deciphered by his daughter and while her words did visibly abate his agitation, he was still worried for his firstborn. 

"You're probably right, how's that leg of yours? Should you even be putting so much strain on it?"

"That's why I have this..." Cristine motioned for the crutch nestled underneath her right arm. "I keep it all the way up most of the time. It's healing quite well, just a bit longer... hopefully nothing happens between then."

James shook his head and leaned against the edge of the dining table. Unlike Hailey, Cristine saw the world through his eyes at a very early age. Granted, it was the situations she grew up and mostly it was a good thing that she could. 

It was how she survived until now and reunited with them, even if it was after five whole years. She saw danger and a world of uncertainty and risks. 

She had probably killed, despaired and suffered many things. Each day the spiraling thoughts of him not being there with her during those critical moments in her life, made James take out his flask or went hunting. 

Last night, he did both and luckily he was able to hide it from both his wife and youngest daughter. 

He drank, hoping that the answer lied at the bottom of the glass and then the bottom of the bottle and then the next bottle. He couldn't remember how many of the dead he ended up clearing, but he woke up behind the wheel of his truck. 

He freshened up very early in the morning and combined with a splitting headache, James roamed around the Ranch until his journey led him to Cristine's cozy single lodge. 

"Let's get breakfast." 

-

The amount of eyes that observed Cristine with the gazes of that aloof judgement hadn't become significantly less since her arrival. 

Still, in fleeting moments someone staring would inadvertently catch Cristine's eye then hurriedly look away. One person's face was etched with distaste, like it was her fault he felt offended. Cristine kept her face relaxed, looking indifferent and followed the queue. 

When it was her turn to receive her portion the person in charge of the kitchen, Kerry, even put an extra bit of fruit to go with my oatmeal. Cristine thanked the kind looking woman with a shallow nod and walked to the outermost table and sat down by herself.

After James routinely greeted everyone, he joined Cristine with his breakfast and quickly became immersed in small talk. Beneath the talk was the love, the gentle gaze of his eyes, the relaxed nature of his clean-cut face. It didn't matter what the subject was about, Cristine was comforted by the fact that she didn't go crazy of barely socializing with anyone. 

"How are you holding up helping around the infirmary? You making good use of that special noggin of yours?"

Cristine chuckled from her father's silly words and the face that came with it. "Better than first, but there seem to be more than enough people with medical knowledge in the camp."

After the nonchalant shrug, James pursed his lips together and placed his rough palm on top of the hand that prodded with the plastic spoon. 

"Don't downplay yourself like that. You remember what happened after your first test in middle school?"

Much to his joy a vigorous spark appeared in Cristine's beautifully curved eyes. "My teacher called you and said that while most of my answers were wrong, what I wrote down was an exact copy of the book."

"You didn't miss a single letter or punctuation and that's the moment your bright future began. My Birdie graduated as the youngest in her year from medical school and even had the opportunity to be part of some fancy research center." James proudly described the heights of Cristine's career before this. 

Cristine in turn looked away, as a wave of spoiled embarrassment clung around her. Coincidentally, her eyes met with Dolores'. She and her daughter sat at together at a completely different table.

Her stepmother's piercing eyes were narrowed and her thin lips pursed together into a straight line. Cristine had the urge to arch her brow, but her sudden frown was more than enough reason for her father to follow her line of sight. 

Dolores realized she held her glare on for too long. She didn't even have the decency to be embarrassed by her husband's silent warning. Why should she? There were no positive feelings between her and Cristine.

"It isn't a good look if you don't sit together." 

"Cristine." Her father gravely said and hunched over with a look that said drop it. He tugged at her hand to attract her attention when her gaze lingered on his second wife. 

The moment her lightless eyes rolled back forward, straight on him Cristine slid her hand on her lap. Her focus was somewhere on a tree behind him, as if he had become invisible and could not bear to see her father at all. 

The laughter evaporated from James his eyes. His customary warmth gone faster than summer rain on the tarmac. The invisible line was crossed, sensibilities were offended and it only took a look from Dolores to ruin it. 

"The real enemy is outside, not here. The dead, people who want to take what's ours. Don't cloud your judgement with base things, the world's too small for that now."

"Did you tell your saint of a wife that too?" Her question was an angry hiss and Cristine clenched the metal spoon so hard between the bones of her palm, she was sure the tightened skin tore.

James his face turned ugly from her sardonic remark. His eldest daughter had a way of not mincing her words and on command ceased all facial mobility. These moods from being the most loved to becoming the most hated would be the end of him.

"I have- I will, it's just you've been out there and the majority of the people here haven't. They only know what they hear from the militia."

"They're sheep... and I can't believe you think I'd want to stay in a place like this."

"Why not? It's safe, we have food, clean water, guns and enough ammo to last. Would you risk going outside jeopardizing your safety instead of being here with us?"

"I would." Cristine answered not missing a beat, the elongated eye contact demanded a greater degree of focus from her father. The way she confidently answered him. "Most of the people clearly don't want me around, so I'll just have to ease their mind and stay at the perimeter of the Ranch, do what's asked of me and mind my business."

"You're right, I'm only staying because of you and Hailey, but know that I'll never fit in or be accepted. That's just how things are and it won't ever change daddy."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

Breakfast left a bad aftertaste in her mouth but Cristine's felt liberated after her confession. The guilt that sat on her chest and inside her brain lessened in weight. What she had done, she could not undo. but that didn't occupy her thoughts as much as her father's adamant behavior that she give everyone here a fair chance.

Good people that were only defending what's theirs from others. Cristine wasn't so sure if her old man was gullible or simply ignored the people's mindset here. The latter reason was more plausible and Cristine felt uncomfortable.

The latter reason was more plausible and Cristine felt uncomfortable  
Was her father always a closeted bigot?

Thinking back, he never talked about his life before her, her mother or San Francisco. But seeing this place, the respect people gave him as a so called founder of Broke Jaw Ranch, she understood.

"This is just great." Cristine muttered to herself and head towards the community gardens to help with harvesting the field's produce.

 

-

"Hey sis." Cristine was so focused on her work, she hadn't noticed Hailey dropping side by side on her knees. She was dressed in a comfortable red checkered shirt, loose khaki pants and had her hair tied back into a ponytail.

"Hey." Cristine greeted her younger sister and dabbed some of the sweat from her brow. She hadn't talked to Hailey since she was shot in the leg. Her sibling either avoided her out of shame or wanted to give her space.

Flickering blue eyes briefly rested on the single crutch on the ground and then at the plucked beans inside the basket. "Looks like we're both on field duty today." Hailey smiled genuinely before she scooted closer to her sister and was amazed at the amount she'd harvested.

"Looks like it." Cristine's answer was mellow and difficult for the younger Gerrard sister to pinpoint whether her older sibling was angry or not. After a bout of silence, Hailey quietly joined her sister with the arduous task of plucking the beans.

The sisters worked in utter silence and were fully concentrated on their day's work. At first, Hailey wasn't as put off by the lack of idle conversation. But then she noticed the occasional person pass by with a curious then frowning stare directed at her and her sister. Her pink lips twisted into a frown and her face flushed red from the growing heat inside her chest.

"Don't make a scene." Started by the calm order, Hailey's head snapped in the direction of her sister. Dark brown irises meet argent blue and just as Hailey wanted to argue with her, Cristine said.

"It's not worth it. I rather not get shot at because of your impulsive reactions." The lack of silence should have been clear to Hailey. It wasn't natural that her own sister responded so mildly to her presence. Of course she was angry and the fact that Hailey hadn't even dropped by to see how her older sister faired or apologize, made it apparent that Cristine was over her entitled and spoiled attitude.

The relationship between them weakened ever since Cristine indefinitely moved after she graduated from college. Hailey didn't have the chance to start, since her mother and father wanted to move to Broke Jaw Ranch. That was a good thing, thinking back now, with the world as it was. But that decision had been another crack between the estranged sisterhood.

"Our father is one of the Founding Fathers of this place and the people here are treating you like you did unimaginable things to them." Hailey wasn't someone who easily dropped things. No, that was streak she shared with her mother.

"Good to know that stupid isn't going anywhere with the end of the world." Cristine never once looked at Hailey, instead her focus was solely on picking the beans. Her facial expression was slack, but Hailey could tell that this mask was just a defense.

"You should tell daddy."

"No, I shouldn't."

"Why?"

"Drop it Hailey. We have a quota for today and your basket is too empty to be doing all this talking." Hailey wanted to scoff at Cristine's answer. She was actually worried for her, but her sister acted aa if the whole world was her enemy.

"Y'know, I'm not even assigned to help you with this. No one is and this is at least a two man's job. You've been assigned to work on the crops every. Single. Day." With clenched fists Hailey emphasized each words. In her annoyance, she grabbed her sister's arm so that she'd finally look in the other's eyes.

"We might not be that close these past years, but you're my sister, my blood, and I'm not going to let some hillbilly rednecks bully you because you're you."

Cristine arched a brow, as if amused by her sister's brave words. "I thought you wanted me as far away from these hillbilly rednecks and this place. You feel guilty?"

"I do. So what?"

Cristine was genuinely surprised by her sister's adamant behavior and it showed on her face. It was a complete turn from the sneaky stuff she'd done six days ago.

Hailey sighed and began to gather the beans and scrunched her nose together, "I didn't- I didn't think you'd get shot. There was so much blood, I thought you'd- God- I'm sorry Cristine, I really am. You don't deserve any of this... not you and I'm sorry about what I said-"

"Hailey? What're you doing here?" The confusingly strict question interrupted the hot and cold conversation between the sisters. Standing boots deep in the muck of the fields was none other than the militia leader himself.

"Troy." Hailey's squeezed the name through her clenched teeth, her voice raw with reeled in anger.

"I thought you had kitchen duty with Gretchen today." If he'd notice the teen's response, it left him absolutely unfazed. The statement was left lingering in the air, clearly expecting a clear-cut answer as to why she was not fulfilling her assigned job.

The Ranch was a place of rules, order and responsibility. It didn't matter if it was something menial, the rules needed to be followed. Whoever didn't had to be corrected and disciplined for not doing so. Troy arched his brows before cocking his head, a silent urge for the youngest Garrard to offer him a plausible answer.

"Most of the kitchen chores are done." Hailey began in a soft, but regulated tune. It wouldn't do her, and more importantly Cristine, any good if she made a scene with the people with standing in the community. "I noticed there was still a lot of work with picking beans. It's not a job meant for one person, so I found it odd that my sister had to do it alone."

Troy shrugged, the movement accentuating his raised eyebrows, wrinkled forehead and upturned lips. He clearly wasn't interest in the rest of her explanation and didn't mind toning down his reaction, instead he looked away from the sisters. His vision caught the sight of the diligent people doing their chores. True ranch members who earned their place here and abided by the rules of this place and actually belonged here.

After flexing his fingers, dark blue eyes flicked back in the direction of the siblings. An amused smile, that didn't match the chill in his eyes, spread across his face. It was such a shift in demeanor that Hailey shifted under the man's gaze. "Y'know that's not how things work around here Hailey."

Hailey tried her best to squeeze the angry tremor inside her voice. "It's not as if I didn't do my work. Everyone switches between chores or helps the other when they're done early." This freak was bending over backwards over every little thing to make her sister's life miserable.

"You're not everyone are you? You're the daughter of one of the founding fathers and it won't set a good example for the other members if you do what you want." Troy answered and rolled his shoulders from left and right to undulate the stiffness in his muscles. "Some people need to be shown how we do things around here." He shrugged and glanced at the elder sibling with eyes of indifference, "they need to know their place."

"And that is?" Undaunted, Cristine raised her head and urged him to elaborate the vague one-liners and hidden jabs thrown at her. Instead of arguing with a teen, she wanted him to stop treating her like she was the dirt on his shoes and see her as less than a person. Backing down or letting people walk all over her wasn't how her father raised her to be. Often, she had to pick her battles wisely and advance when she had the full advantage, but sometimes Cristine knew she had to leave her mark and bite back even when that wasn't the case.

"I'm not talking to you."

"But you are now. And clearly you love hearing yourself talk." Cristine didn't miss a beat in her quick reply. She saw the way his jaw rotated, despite the fake smile on his lips, clearly annoyed with her words. "So Troy, if you have something you want to share, please do. Else, Hailey and I will finish this up."

"Fine." Troy sighed, as if it weighed on his mind to actually share his opinions with her. "This type of work really suits you and all, but honestly? No one wants you here and you're making people uncomfortable. Your place isn't on the Ranch." He truthfully shared with a shrug, as if talking about the weather, "that being said, we can't force you to leave, this is still a free country, no matter how messed up it is. But I can make your life a hell, so that you do leave. That way we don't have to worry about distractions anymore."

Cristine had heard a hell of a lot worse from others, but Troy was literally telling her he'd ruin her life in front of her sister. He was equating her existence to her worth and admitting that she was nothing, was implying that he'd rather see her dead. A foulness washed over her like heavy water, holder her to the ground and only letting some of the rationality in.

"No hard feelings, right? I'm just looking out for this place." Thinking hard over his dangerously honest words, Cristine rolled some beans between her palms. They felt clammy and sticky, as she remembered the last person who wanted her dead.

It was a jumbled mesh of red, torn flesh. Hot and slippery metal cut through her palms.

"No hard feelings." It was Cristine's turn to shrug in the opposite direction, the edge of her lips twitching in hidden amusement. A raw light passed through her eyes. "I just expected one of you to have done something. You just keep leering at me. The bravest one spit on the ground when I passed by." A brief smile ghosted over her full lips, amused by this joke. "I don't want to give you any ideas, but if one of you doesn't kill me, I won't leave any time soon."

Short chapter this time, but the next one will make that up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

Apparently I posted chapter 4 twice  Here's the right chapter! Enjoy!

 

After yesterday, Hailey's whole attitude had changed 360 degrees and her little sister was uncharacteristically clingy with her. It was the only spark of normalcy Cristine experienced in what felt like ages.

Then again, it had been almost five years since she'd seen her family in the flesh. She'd talk to them on the phone, but the conversations were mostly superficial and often forced on both ends of the line. Culpability for actions of the past nowhere to be found when speaking to her father or sister. It frustrated Cristine immensely and she'd given up on trying to be the person to always reach out and sort out their issues.

Issues present even before her father remarried and Hailey was born. Situations in the house that got even more complicated when the memories of her birthmother slowly replaced in her home and fading from her puerile and moldable mind as a six year old. It wasn't until two years later, that Cristine sort of understood that Dolores wasn't her real mother, just Hailey's. She remembered how the elder woman, birthing a child at her age nothing short from a miracle, told her to not call her mommy again. Confused as to why, her father took the eight year old Cristine aside and gently urged her to refer to his second wife as Dolores.

Not wanting any trouble and just wanting to play with her pudgy baby sister, Cristine never referred to Dolores as such anymore.

Cristine pinched Hailey's cheek, disappointed to find that baby fat gone. The response comical as Hailey gawked at her like she lost her damn mind, before swatting her hand. The pinching action left an even redder mark on her already flushed skin due to the sultry weather.

"What the heck is that for?!" Hailey spat as if she'd done the worst thing possible. A light quirk formed on Cristine's lips when she listened to the sequence of complaints. "I woke up sweaty, I went to bed sweaty, I even got out of the shower sweaty. I don't need your sweaty fingers adding more layers of sweat on my sweaty face."

Her skin glistened, the nape of her neck damp as she wrapped up her ponytail, tucking the hair away from. She lifted the ice cold glass of water to her mouth. This was both their first San Diego summer and while Cristine found it bearable, Hailey clearly couldn't stand the sweltering heat. According to their father's forecast it would last a few more days.

"The perks of living close to the beach." Cristine muttered, thinking of their home back in San Francisco. The beach stretched out alongside the water, the constant friends chattering as the water danced endlessly to soothe the warm grains. Resting on the beach always felt like a cozy hug, especially after a busy day, one only matched by the sunshine filed sky. It's visitors stretched on their towels and under umbrellas looking like starfishes.

"You think there's still a chance some of it is till standing?" Hailey softly asked, pondering of the possibility that somewhere, somehow the government or whoever saved the country with a cure and all of this would be over. She'd only seen a resurrected once. He was part of one of the people that fled to Broke Jaw Ranch for shelter.

It was a chaos and just a horror to witness. He kept walking, unfazed the bullets or punches thrown at him. Until Troy took the head off with a machete when it got too close to the people. And even then, the head still growled and gnarled at them in search for something to satiate its irate hunger if just for a moment. According to rumors, Troy confiscated the body for research or something and that was the last ever seen of Geoff. That was a story for another time.

From what she'd heard from the militia men and women on the Ranch, the resurrected were anywhere and everywhere imaginable. Still, Cristine had been in the city and was the last person to have actually seen their home.

Cristine briefly looked at her hands and shook her head, their brief quips an afterthought of what was the new reality. "It's bombed from what I last heard. Even if that did the job, it's too far spread."

"How do you know?"

"I travelled all the way here from San Francisco and most of it was on foot." Cristine unconsciously moved her jaw from left to right, remembering the exact same scenery as in the populated areas of her arduous trip. The empty husks staggering and stumbling, but never once losing their balance on their never-ending march. The sound of their snarls, animalistic to the ear. It was a constant loud noise that was grating enough to want to pop your eardrums out. This infection that indiscriminately spread until whole governments, armies and organizations crumbled under its purposeless might other than inane gluttony.

The sound of Hailey's glass brought Cristine back to her senses. The dry heat seeping into her pores as she wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. Looking at blue irises, Cristine shared bits and pieces of her trip, "the dead are already moving to rural areas and they'll keep on migrating until they've eaten everything."

Hailey bit the corner of her lips, the distress apparent on her dewy face. "We're safe on the Ranch. I mean the militia protects us, so I don't think we have to worry."

"Maybe." Cristine shrugged, almost apathetic to the iffy reassurance from her baby sister. "This place is pretty well set up, but not for this. Not for when a dead mob comes and brings it down. The only smart thing to do then is run."

"Anyway," flustered by her callous conclusion and not hearing any reassurance from her sister, Hailey quickly diverted the conversation to something else that was equally unpleasant.

"It's been a few days since you confronted you know who... any trouble?"

Not many days passed since the encounter with Troy. Cristine knew it wouldn't benefit her stay in any way when butting heads with the militia leader. But she wasn't going to allow that jerk to talk down to her, especially when she was right in front of him and her sister. If he was man enough to argue with a teenager, he was man enough to argue with her.

"Suspiciously quiet." Cristine muttered and rubbed her healing leg. She still had to use her makeshift crutch as support, but the other day her stitches got taken out. And she checked it daily to spot any infection or the sorts. Luckily none were forming and she'd be on full strength pretty soon.

"That's not good." Hailey stared down the pathway that lead to the big house at the top where the Otto's live.

"Yeah," Cristine agreed and followed her sister's line of sight in the direction of the large home. "But like you said, daddy's one of the Founding Fathers and I'm still his blood. They can glare and scoff at me all they want, but they still have to think of him before they decide to do anything stupid."

-

Cristine wanted to slap herself on the mouth from talking too soon. Then again, if this was the worst thing that could be done to her, she never would have made it this far. After her short break with Hailey from the heatwave, Cristine went back to her cabin for a change of clothes. Dark eyes veered around the impeccable state of her room before stalking in the direction of her small drawer to pull it open. She blinked at the contents and rolled her tongue over both lips, wetting them.

It was empty.

Snorting, Cristine didn't know whether to cry or laugh at the juvenile energy of this mess that was called making her life a hell. She'd walk around with the same outfit for days before being lucky enough to find something to wash let alone own a multiple set clothing. If sabotaging her personal hygiene was the best they could think off this was going to be... interesting.

What were they? Ten?!

Other than her clothes, nothing else was taken from her room or sabotaged. She double-checked and found her knife and bag in place. Scratching the top of her head, Cristine let her mind wander for a few minutes, rammed her drawer shut and stepped out of her cabin.

The heat didn't deter her as much as first, instead she pleasant inhaled and exhaled, rolled her joints and headed to the do her assigned chores. Luckily, with all the work at Broke Jaw, the hours were long and welcome. Today, instead of picking beans all day, Cristine's job was to tend to the horses, groom them animals and clean their stables.

Having never done any farming chores in her life before, a girl close in her teenage years helped her with that. She had dirty blonde hair that was pulled back into low ponytail.

"The name's Gretchen by the way. Gretchen Trimbol." She smiled earnestly when introducing herself, there was a little skip in her walk heading to the stables.

"Cristine." The older woman said, trying not to show her unwillingness to start a conversation of any kind. Being around the Ranch members was always a trip, so Cristine remained cautious. She just wanted to do her job and avoid receiving any complaints that she was slacking or anything.

"You're Hailey's sister and Mr. Gerrard's eldest."

"Right," Cristine nodded, wary by the girl's energy level. It was too hot to be this lively. She didn't sleep enough to match the excitement. Also, all the prying was a bit unnecessary in her mind. Everyone knew who she was.

"My dad's also a Founding Father of Broke Jaw, like yours. Made this place to what it is now. It's crazy because, Jeremiah saw it coming... well the world ending that is... not the dead rising again. We all thought it was some sick joke at first."

Gretchen's smile wavered, biting her lip in thought and looked in Cristine's general direction, "when people realized it wasn't, many of us fled to this place when it began. Many people we knew didn't make it to here too."

"You're one of the lucky ones." Cristine said and felt envious, thinking how lucky the majority of people here was from being spared the hell outside. Not everyone had this much privilege. The weight on her shoulders intensified when she arrived to an empty home, only realizing her family wasn't. Her nosy neighbors mentioned something to her about them going to a vacation to San Diego. Trying to contact her father proved futile since he refused to pick up any of her calls when she tried. The only clue of her family's possible whereabouts, some vague old letters that originated from a backwater place in San Diego.

Cristine, a hapless victim of familial indifference reacted in the usually manner by distracting herself. So, instead of enjoying that free time, she spend it at her internship at the San Francisco Department of Health. A well-needed attention attractor to ignore the hurt that her family went M.I.A on her. Another confirmation to the fact that their relationship balanced on a thin thread and would soon snap from the weight of unspoken and unresolved issues.

This all happened exactly one week before the outbreak.

The distraction to work in her vacation was more than welcome for Cristine. It even earned her extra brownie points for her mentor, who offered her the opportunity to gather experience for her future job as an infectiologist after graduating from medical school. He saw something in her, something special and worthy, something her father did at one point too. And while it wasn't enough to soothe the aching in her chest and her jumbled mind, Cristine felt better that particular week. Actually, it was the last time she remembered ever feeling that happy before all the madness started.

-tine? Cristine?" Started by the hand on her elbow, dark brown eyes snap at the shorter teen. A crease of worry settled between her drawn eyebrows when she noticed the unresponsive woman at her side.

"You okay? You suddenly started to wander off." Glancing at the girl's hand on her arm, one Gretchen quickly withdrew noticing Cristine's tight glower, that wasn't meant as one at all, but just came too natural sometimes it set people off.

"Sorry! Personal space, Gretchen." The manner in which she scolded herself was hilarious, but she quickly brushed the awkwardness away with an fluid smile, "I just got worried, since you didn't respond and all. We're here!"

The large shed was made of those orangey planks with a sloping corrugated iron roof designed for the average rainstorm to pass by, damp smell of ammonia overpowered by the animal's heavy odor, deep dark golden hue of old straw, stable doors with their hooks on to accommodate the dozen or so stallions behind them.

Cristine's nose wrinkled from left to right, not used to the acrid and overpowering smell. Her face shift to an unpleasant grimace and shifting on her feet, she occasionally rubbed her nose with the back of her palm.

"You'll get used to it."

"I don't think I want to." She muttered.

It was ironic and odd that she didn't like the smell, considering that the dead had an more rancid stench. Having gotten used to daily showers had the opposite effect on her senses. Pinching herself in the leg, a silent scold to not behave like a spoiled city brat, Cristine listened to Gretchen's instructions on how to take care of horses.

The teen was a natural when tending to her equine friends. Gretchen actually tended to them daily, even if she had other chores. Two of the horses were actually hers and Cristine wondered how that worked, convinced that the Otto's owned everything.

"Everyone contributes and puts in their supplies, livestock, weapons and whatever is necessary to keep the ranch running. City folk call us Preppers, but we don't use that term. We're Survivalists and we've seen what no one else didn't and prepared for it. The end of the world as we know it." The girl puffed her chest out, there was obvious pride behind her words.

Cleaning the insides of the stables, Cristine let Gretchen's words to sink. A minority of people coined as paranoid and crazy in the old world were the ones on top of the echelon. It was ironic in a way, but perfect from people who prepared for this their whole lives. Aside from the self-sustaining system, the community was tightly knit and also supplied to the teeth. It was a literal godsend for anyone still outside and fleeing from the dead.

"A gold mine for poachers or worse..." She thought realistically, having already seen the worst in people this early in the apocalypse. What people would do to each other for safety, for a little bit of food, for weapons to defend themselves. Call it survival instinct or human nature, but she hadn't gotten in such a situation.

"It's not bad right?" Gretchen piped up behind her and Cristine forced a tight smile in her direction with a light nod. The blond began sweeping one of the stables opposite from where she was. The chores were simple, the company decent and it wasn't as hot as before.

All was good and well-

"Ah!" Jumping into action, Cristine's face washed blank with confusion, like her brain cogs couldn't turn fast enough to take in the information from her ears. Every muscle of her body jolted before her legs moved in the direction of Gretchen. The girl stumbled out the pen on the back of her heels, broom clattering to the floor before she too tumbled on her behind.

"Gretchen! Are you alright?" In a flurry, Cristine quickly surveyed the teen for any injuries and felt the girl quiver. Clinching her jawbone at her silence, Cristine whipped her head in the direction of the empty horse's box and grabbed the broom and carefully advanced towards the thing that spooked Gretchen.

With a narrowed gaze, deliberate steps and defensive stance did Cristine move forward. Her neck was stretched to its maximum length and after sucking in a few more breaths, the frown on her face grew. A rattling sound filled the previously peaceful air. Dark eyes fall to the rattlesnake when every capacity of her brain focused on the reptile before her in the dirty heap of fabrics. The corner it was huddle in guarded it from the casual eye, but Cristine could see each scale burn on her retina.

Steel yellow eyes take in her form, selecting possible places to attack; forked tongue savor the scent of the air. It's body is a frozen coil in the cool corner, but it's common knowledge of how soon the statue became something too fast dodge. The rattling continues to vibrate and her brain is torn between keeping focused on the tail or the head. Slowly, her legs agreed to move, slowly advancing.

Rolling her clammy fingers tighter around the broom's stick, Cristine watched its tongue flick in and out as it returned the glare with beady, abyss-like eyes. Mentally preparing herself with hard breaths, she slammed the other end of the hard bristles repeatedly on top of the venomous animal's head until she was sure the rattling and hissing sounds had stopped.

"Is- is it dead?" Gretchen anxiously asked behind her, wide eyes glued on the jumpy figure of Cristine bashing in the snake's head. Snakes and scorpions were common around the area, but Gretchen didn't expect one to house so inconspicuously between the discarded pile of dirty clothes and underwear. It was like someone just dumped it here together with the snake and wanted it to be found.

"Yeah, it is." Cristine answered after a while.

Glowering at her familiar outfits and panties, the right corner of her lips twitched with stifled irritation. The crushed snake was a mesh of meat and blood between the muck and manure that coated her clothes.

"You alright Gretchen? It didn't bite you?" Cristine asked, still leering at the ruined clothes before she clenched and unclenched her hands from around the wooden stick. Sighing, she started to swipe the pile of trash together.

"I am. Thank you." Gretchen shifted on her feet and chewed on her lower lip, "rattle snakes don't usually build their nests where it's crowded with people and animals.

"Maybe it found something to eat?" Cristine shrugged, "let's finish this up."

At the end of the day, Cristine found a fresh set of clothing on her bed with a small note from Gretchen between it.

Thank you for yesterday. And I'm sorry they're doing this to you."

Part two will be up within a day, since I need to reread it as a whole. So keep an eye out. If you follow me, you'll receive the notification automatically, hint, hint. Our problematic fave will make his appearance too.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

The rattle snake and stolen clothes were just the start of Cristine's harassment. In the flicker of the candlelight the scorpion that scuttled over the floor was more black than the night outside. It's pincers were raised, yet held it in towards the head, like a tiny boxer that held his hands in ready to take a jab at her.

Only, each inky claw had a swollen bulb right behind the long edges, ugly and menacing to the eyes. For all the display with his pincer, its curling tail was the most fearful thing. A pinch would be painful, but the poison soon after would be deadly.

It was just menacing and scuttled with alarming rapidity across the wooden floor, making for a shaded spot to hide in. It took Cristine a full hour to grab the deadly insect with as much stealth as she could. In a fit of anger she smashed the poisonous bug with her boot.

-

Almost three weeks in the new world, Cristine had trained herself to never fully fall asleep, a skill that always came in handy when the infected or people snuck up on her. That being said, she always had some type of weapon underneath her headrest or in this case her pillow.

Her equally dark eyes couldn't be seen in the dead of the night when they came apart from their lids. If they were, one could discern their sharpened state and guarded intellect. She slipped the knife from underneath her pillow and lifted herself from the bed.

Cristine slipped on her boots and prowled through her room, while her eyes adjusted to focus in the dark. She stood between the space of the door and window, listening. There were no voices, no footsteps.

With her back planted against the wall, Cristine rolled her wrist and in that moment the quiet had become like icy drips onto already cold skin. The night was never like this, like some isolated scenery.

Whoever it was, and Cristine had a fairly good idea who, clearly wanted to tamper with her state of mind. When stimulated with stress and fear, the human brain is only made better at learning and remembering these exact things. This type of stress triggered impulsive actions that could endanger her stay at the Ranch. Therefore, to restore one's piece of mind, her other voice of reason needed to tamper her wary mentality.

Cristine looked down at the outline of the long hunting knife in her hand. "They're trying to scare me into doing something stupid." And because her response to take a weapon was so swift and decisive she almost fell for it. Juvenile as it all was, these punk moves were meant to make her paranoid and snap when least expected.

Taunted to stay on her toes and alert every hour of the day, exerting herself to deal with poisonous animals that coincidentally were only near her cabin. It drained her mentally and physically one step at a time and Cristine pressed the but of the knife against her forehead out of frustration.

Cristine dropped her shoulders and noisily stomped back to her bed.

Outside the single cabin, thundering footsteps could be heard. Two people in military gear stood staunch at either side of the door and looked at each other with as much as a spark of interest and slight disappointment.

Willy was the first to shrug his shoulders at Jimmie. It was a shame she didn't open the door as he had hoped she would, but they couldn't do any more than this. They were on patrol and Troy would be pissed if he knew that they were slacking at the job just to rile the woman of mixed heritage up.

With a gesture of the head, Willy beckoned at his partner to resume their shift. The two men walked down from the porch, away from the cabin and it was Willy who proposed, "I really want to see what riles her up. She's a frigid type this one and Troy's annoyed by her."

"Coop says those are usually the best ones to woo." Jimmie's glanced over his shoulder, the perverted smile on his didn't leave much to the imagination.

Willy shook his head and chuckled almost incredulous, "would you?"

"Come on she's a looker. Can't say that about all the women here."

Willy replied with a snort. "Pfftt, did you see her sister? I'd actually put more effort in getting to know her."

"Really? That one's like a Siren, charm you to your deathbed and you won't even know it."

"Whatever, I rather get killed by my own."

Jimmie smirked and shook his head, "I guess at one point we need to get over that with the dead outnumbering us. Repopulating the earth and all."

"You're disgusting." Willy sneered. "Like Troy said, we need to up our game. Sees which one of us can crack her first."

-

Early morning breakfast, Cristine's head bobbed forward for the third time. Her right hand tucked under her chin while prodding through her meal with her fork. She was too tired to even feed herself, eyes bleary from the lack of sleep yesterday. While she hadn't done anything she would regret, the sounds hadn't stopped one time until it was a few hours before dawn and breakfast.

The tiredness washed over her in both forms, physical and mental. Her body needed to rest yet mind needed for it to stay moving, to burn the uneasiness right out. All the effort of her body kept her up all night, without rest she'd just spiral into exhaustion.

Stifling the sequence of yawns with her fists, Cristine slowly munched her way through bits of her breakfast

"Coffee?" Tensing in her seat, Cristine stopped her dominant hand from stabbing the fork into the man's stretched out arm in reflex. A hot mug of instant coffee sat perched in front of her tray and she raised her head.

Cristine was still and attentive when Troy sat on the seat opposite of her. She quickly looked around to see that it was just him, his crew ate breakfast at their regular table between the rest of the people. In an instant, Cristine's slouched and relaxed posture went fully erect to show that she was fully on guard.

"You getting enough rest? You look exhausted." He asked, head tilting with the question as his blue orbs mapped the darkened circles and slightly red eyes. Rolling his own cup between his palms before taking a sip from the beverage, Troy said.

"Not all of it is me, y'know. I take full credit for the scorpions and rats though." He admitted honestly and watched her eyes narrow slightly, not missing the sharpness when they darted in the direction of his men. "We made a bet, see which one of us can make you crack first.

"By hiding my clothes? Good luck with that." He paused as she said that and chuckled as if she said something amusing.

"We're just warming up. I know you said that we'd have to kill you... but that's too easy. It's not hard to take a gun and blow your brains out. No fun in that, right?"

"..."

"Didn't think so either. So, I upped the prize for my guys a bit. First one to do some good damage wins a night vision binocular. State of the art tech." Now he just started to brag and taunt her and Cristine just wanted to jump over this table and stab these three pointy ends into his eye.

"You're telling me this why?" Her voice was tight, controlled like the unrelenting mask she showed him. Troy really wanted to see the lack of a visible expression gone and have it contort into irrational anxiety.

Troy really wanted to kill her that same day, talking back to him the way she did, when she was nothing but insignificant and unwanted by her own family. He regret not having shot her in the dessert, but he just wanted to see how her presence here would've played out. He was disappointed to see that, aside from Dolores, the woman had the care of her sister and father.

What Troy didn't get was why, despite her family leaving her behind, they didn't act the same way as first. Was it because of the world now turned into an apocalypse that they changed? He'd wreck his mind about it and couldn't come up with a logical and reasonable explanation for this phenomenon that was the Gerrard family.

"So that you don't disappoint. You're tired and not always on your guard, even if you try to be. And it shows in the way you eat, move, talk to people and do your chores." Troy took another mouthful of coffees and gestured at the beverage he brought for her.

"It's why I got you that. It's good, the coffee. I promise." He smiled, showing his pearly white teeth. It was as if he was waiting to take the cup and take a dip from it, but she didn't.

"Not a coffee person." Cristine lied and pushed the cup in his direction and began eating the last of her breakfast. She ignored the man for the remainder of the time as he sat there like a creepy, staring at her with puzzled eyes.

She pretended to be so immersed with her food and acted as if he wasn't there. Ignoring the things he just said to her, admitting boldly that he and his people were playing with her life. Troy took the opportunity to lean back a bit and observe her more closely.

She seemed so focused and ready, with the way she kept her control by remaining unfazed. Each bite from her breakfast increased more and more till finally, she was done, raised her head back up, took her crutch and wordlessly left. Without a snide remark, but a glower to match her mood as she turned to leave. They were chasms of deep brown and she rolled them at him before leaving Troy there to sit by himself. He rolled his lip to prevent showing his smirk.

Tapping his fingers on the edge of the cup, Troy inwardly shrugged and whisked the other warm cup. Not wanting to waste the good drink, he walked back to the regular table where his group were and passed the drink to his best friend, Mike.

 

-

Another long day passed. Cristine felt it was the longest one yet. The evening heat seemed to last for an eternity. Distracted when noticing one of Troy's people in the vicinity as she worked. To the average person, not much seemed to happen as they passed, but the simper, glower or sneer directed at her, involuntarily lowered her sense of security.

With her recovery, she could do more chores and today was the most arduous one since she arrived. She wondered who was in charge of making these schedules. She worked the fields, put up some new fences, picked beans (of course) and even had time to work around the infirmary. The nurse in charge, Martha still didn't want her around the place and gave her the menial chores of setting up the tools and supplies in case someone came in for an emergency.

Cristine didn't complain, less for her to do on this sweltering day. She could relax for once, out of the sun and just reorganize thoughts. Reorganize her every step, conversation and attitude to prepare for the next wave of harassment thrown her way. It was her who 'challenged' Troy, which she just saw as standing up for herself. With the exception of Hailey, no one else would.

This was taking a toll on her health, made her weak and observant eyes were everywhere, waiting for her to make just a single mistake. A single moment where she wasn't alert before getting struck at a moment she didn't expect.

Cristine began to wonder if she should talk to her father about this. It wasn't like she didn't want to bother him, but lately the fate in her father had dwindled significantly. He was there for her and checked on her, but just on the surface. Cristine wondered if he was even happy to have her here. Five years of strained contact was a long time and the distance only seemed to increase, even more it felt now that she was here.

Sighing, Cristine waddled back to her cabin to get a well-needed nap before dinner was ready. When she stood in front of her door, she stepped in her routine of surveying her surroundings and carefully unlocked her door. With all things placed in her room, she expected to find the worst inside. She encountered rats, scorpions, poisonous spiders and even the dead body of a mutilated rabbit one time.

Carefully twisting the sturdy knob of the door open, it parted with a creaky sound-

"Graaggh!"

The smell hit first, before a flash of movement lunged at Cristine. The errant body comes at her straight from the front, plunging out from the cabin like a monstrous clown with a black frump wig and nickel eyes. Before she even had the chance to identify it as a person, dressed in dirty and torn clothes with an exposed flap of chewed meat at the chest area, the thing pounces on her with the force of a defensive tackle.

Cristine sprawls backward to the ground, tumbling down the steps, and it all happens so fast that she barely has time to cry out in pain. The moving corpse lands on top of her, snarling with black, slimy, chattering teeth and - in that split second before Cristine realizes she is still gripping her crutch - the infected opened its jaw so wide it looked as though its skull is about to unhinge. Cristine caught one horrible glimpse of the recesses of the things throat - an endless hole straight down hell - before she instinctively jerks her only weapon up with as much power in her arm as she could muster.

She hits its neck, the cadaver bobbed to the right from the blow, but it only managed to dent the neck, smashing through the softened flesh. It got even more aggressive by the blow. The sound of yellow dentures snapping impotently with the pop of its jaw.

Barely any time to call out for help, not sure if she would get any. She still had her crutch and with each blow Cristine grunts -

"You got this!"

A blow to the skull, hard enough for it to jerk a second time. A sequence of more hits follow, the brace indent the side of its face through cartilage and bone and cavities.

"You got this!!"

Blood and matter misted down across her face as flashes of foaming, rabid mouths came for her. A memory of the red welt of the open handed smack that was left on her face, of red bedsheets with her father bawling in her tiny shoulders with her oblivious, a memory of the monsters that took her best friend.

"You got this! You got this! You got this! Get the fuck off and die!"

Letting her anger drive itself, Cristine wasn't sure how long she kept hitting. But at one point she had the cadaver straddled between her legs, unmoving, and brought her cane down with all her might. The remains of bone, matter, tissue and cerebrospinal fluid splatters the soil, coats her hands and self made crutch. Her ears hyper-alert and sensitive to the distant thrums of motion: they're coming this way!

Snapping her head up, Cristine jumped to her feet for the next line, ready to swing, only to freeze in her tracks like a confused deer surrounded. Pupils enlarged from the adrenal that rushed through her veins and circumference like a drug. Panting, her chest moved up and down from the hammering of her organs.

"Cristine! Cristine!"

Darting her gaze around she saw a few familiar and unfamiliar faces. Her father, Hailey, a few guys who did patrol, Troy and even Jeremiah. Clenching her slick weapon tightly, Cristine rigidly broke down her hostile stance before following the trail of blood at the entrance of her door.

Stopping the quivering of her lower jaw, the leer that darkened her face when she looked at the wormy gray matter, flagging from the open brained cranium. She feels her throat burn before the soft and cautious call of her nickname pierced through the dark fog.

"Birdie."

A blue gaze full of worry, her father that searched for her gaze, her focus. He stood in her line of sight until she felt his calloused hands curl around the iron grip on her sticky cane. Lifting her eyes at him, unblinking and barely responding to his touch worried James even more.

"Are you-?"

"No." Her answer was clipped and there was some resistance when he tried to take the crutch out of her hand, which she had as barrier between them. James winced and carefully touched her wet face, but Cristine quickly moved away from his fingers.

"I'm fine." She bit back.

"Wh-What happened?" Hailey asked, eyes red and visibly distraught by the scene. She'd never seen such ferocity in her sister, such raw intent to end something, even after it was down. It clicked to Hailey that she was one of the luckiest ones to be here alive... her watery eyes moved to the gore before she quickly covered her mouth. Refusing to let the bile come out.

"It ended up in my cabin for some reason." Cristine answered, voice flat. She still stared up into her father's eyes and James stiffly shifted on his feet because of it. A silent reminder to the conversation they had a week ago.

"Most of the people clearly don't want me around, so I'll just have to ease their mind and stay at the perimeter of the Ranch, do what's asked of me and mind my business."

"I'm only staying because of you and Hailey, but know that I'll never fit in or be accepted. That's just how things are and it won't ever change daddy."

Did they- did people actually want kill his own flesh and blood? For what? James hands firmly squeezed the crutch and dipping his chin down he asked with terse enunciation.

"Whose shift was it?"

A tense silence, which was broken by none other than his friend and the one everyone looked to for guidance.

"James, we'll get on the bottom of this-"

"Will we? Someone didn't do their job right and one of those things miraculously made it on the Ranch! And then it oh so conveniently got to my daughter's cabin, opened that rusty doorknob, shut it and waited."

"I understand that you're worried, but no one got hurt." James whipped his head, having to make a double take of what he just heard.

"Jeremiah, you're not hearing me."

"No you're not hearing me, James." Jeremiah emphasized and frowned at the father-daughter duo. His eyes strayed towards the dead pile and pointed at it, "we'll get to the bottom of this and punish whoever's responsible for letting that slip by defenses. It was an honest mistake and your girl handled it, as she should."

"As she what?"

"Daddy." Cristine softly interjected and James clinched his teeth before facing his daughter with worried eyes. "I'm fine." Despite her words, he could clearly see that she was distraught and James pulled his daughter towards him, unfazed that she didn't return the hug.

"Alright, show's over. You guys get that cleaned up." Troy ordered, hands on his hip and with a shake of his head. Scratching his clean shaven face, only to pause when he saw Cristine look directly at him. Hugged by her father with half her face pressed into the man's shoulder, eyes sticking out and burning with untamed intent.

  
Rolling his tongue over his lip, Troy nonchalantly bobbed his head down. An ambiguous gesture that either sarcastically praised her for a job well done or simply sarcastic glee that she'd initiated this game and they just played along..

"And whoever allowed this shit to happen has a lot more coming to 'em."

-

"As if!" Hailey threw her hands up in the air and boiled red, blue and purple with anger. Her eyes were extremely puffy from crying even Cristine had to comfort her sister.

"That freak allowed this to happen! Jeremiah's not going to do a damn thing! Urghhh!" Hailey kicked the door and roughly rubbed at her eyes.

Listening to her sister, Cristine was in the separated bathroom to wash herself. She watching the red and dirt swirl down the drain. "At least daddy went to Otto about it. If he can't make it about me, he'll make it about the safety of the Ranch. Jeremiah has to do something to make that compromise if he wants to keep people calm." Cristine answered with pure logic. After a quick scrub, she changed her clothes and entered the open space that was her sleeping and living room in one.

Hailey was fuming, paced back and forth without pause. "We should've gone to him sooner. I should have said something to him."

"Should, coulda, woulda. I'm fine." Drying her curls, Cristine was completely over it now. It happened. She was alive. No use crying wolf in front of people who didn't care. The best option now was to wait for what her father would demand. After that, Cristine would just wait for the right time. A faint upward curve of her lip was seen by Hailey. 

"What're you thinking about?" Hailey asked with suspicion, her sister's unnaturally calmness made her jump. "What're you planning?"

An even more ambiguous answer, "nothing."

"That's the look of petty revenge and I don't think that's going to help you now."

"It's not." Cristine shook her head, but the faint smile remained in her lips. "I'll let daddy handle it for me."

Hailey wasn't convinced, but even after prying and begging, her sister's lips remained sealed.

 

So... this was definitely a long and intense chapter if I had to say so myself. But I really had fun writing it. There is a certain pace to my story. There isn't much Troy in this chapter, but he obviously doesn't tolerate Cristine and disagrees with her being on the Ranch. It wouldn't be realistic to have them interact that much or either of them seeking the other out. If that does happen, it will be because he wants to make a statement. But once the story progresses, they will and have to interact on a regular basis. I also want to build these interactions between them and make it make sense why. Also I want you lovelies to have an idea of how Cristine is as a character and her family dynamics before Troy gets a more prominent role.

Again: comment if you enjoy or didn't. Constructive criticism or just a simply hi, I'm reading your story, is more than welcome :)

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

James paced in the working room of the big house. He sighed, thinking about what his eldest child did and what could have happened. If he let this slide, then it was free game. The man was convinced that Cristine would do everything in her power to earn her keep. He didn't raise his daughters to be freeloaders or irresponsible. It would take some time before people accepted her, yes, but she worked hard and didn't cause any trouble. James expected the people to respect him enough to accept his daughter.

This was his daughter!

James sat in the chair on the other side of the desk, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't even realize someone would actually insult him and his family by making an attempt on her life.

The fact that Jeremiah took this with a grain of salt angered him even more. He was a man that was known to the people for his unbiased leadership qualities. He saw none of that today and James wouldn't sit by and let this go unpunished. Not anymore.

Of course, guilt played a big part in it. It didn't sit on his chest, but inside his brain. What he did, leaving San Francisco without rapping a word to his eldest, not picking up her calls and then calling her when the world ended. Before all the lines went down a few hours later. What he didn't do, but should have. James could make amends in subtle ways, but talking about it now was out of the question.

It was too much, it was in the past and he'd just have to make it right for Cristine now, in the present. The world might've ended, but it also started anew. Only in his silent prayers could he speak his heart to God and beg for His mercy and forgiveness. He wasn't sure if there was still one, with the world as it was now; damnation on earth. But James still clung to it and hung the shreds of his sanity on it. He prayed that one day he would feel removed from all the things that happened, things that must be done to start a clean slate, even if the guilt was a stain on him, an ugly scar.

He had to leave his deed, what he didn't do for Cristine in the past and move on. She had to get right with it either, because now their outlook on life all changed.

The front door opened and closed, James locked his hands together and relaxed. His visit just one single purpose: to get clarification and a fitting punishment for the ones responsible. There were more than two footsteps and as they drew closer, James blue eyes visibly sharpened and narrowed.

"I'll make sure the patrol is doubled, so something like this doesn't happen again."

He heard the youngest Otto assure his father and James almost felt like scoffing. That boy was known to the people on the Ranch as troubled and to one or two he was nothing short of a ruthless wolf. And taming a wolf was impossible.

James looked at the entrance, hearing the two walk into the room. Jeremiah walked in first followed by his youngest and oldest at the same time. James looked at them with a focused gaze, short of the courtesy he grew up with.

James saw the slouch of his Jeremiah's shoulders. Troy kept his gaze briefly on him before he looked away and Jake was the most relaxed out of the four men.

"James." Jeremiah greeted his friend, a heaviness settled in his tone as he walked to his desk. Either of his sons stood at one side of the room. Jake near the window sill and Troy sat on the table.

"What can I do for you James?" Jeremiah removed his hat from the top of his head, revealing his bald head.

"I understand that it will take time to find out exactly how this could happen, but I need to know what the consequences will be now." James didn't miss the light grimace on Jeremiah's face. The exact same face given to him when he and the others realized what his other daughter looked like.

"It will be handled James, you have my word."

"No." James shook his head, his voice impatient and tightened the grip he had on both hands, "I need more than that. I need reassurance that what's been happening to my blood ends once and for all."

"She's been pulling her weight, even after she got welcomed with a bullet in the leg." A harsh bite that even made Troy shift. "She doesn't complain or mope and keeps to herself, but for some reason that's not enough."

"It's because we tolerate Mr. Gerrard."

A pause, the words registered and James looked over his shoulders and blue clashed with blue. The boy's whole posture was relaxed, as if what they were talking about wasn't his daughter's life but a fart in the wind.

James his eyes narrowed, waiting for Troy to elaborate and elaborate he did.

"When I found your daughter in the desert, we thought she was another border crosser. She looked rough for wear and we'd send her on her way, but she had your picture. Now, I could've just decided to leave her there, let her go on her merry way, but she was looking for her family." He emphasized the last part.

"We're not keen on strangers Mr. Gerrard, you know that. It's one of the reason why my dad, Vernon and the others helped make this place to what it is now. And you've done a great job. But you're right, Cristine shares half your blood, so we tolerate." He finished explanation with a shrug that made James's blood simmer. "People just feel cheated, knowing one of our Founding Fathers got a kid with an immigrant."

"Troy!" Jake raised his voice, while he wasn't surprised by what his brother's words, James was and would always be one of the people who helped the Ranch to what it was now, even before they were born. Everyone had respect for the Founding Fathers, Jake in particular. Since Broke Jaw was their home and these men helped invest into this place, because they all believed in something good. Now, it was a haven for their families and friends in a world where everything died.

James chuckled, as if he heard a joke and looked back at Jeremiah with a sneer, "I didn't realize I was obligated to show your son or anyone my daughter's or her mother's birth certificate."

"That's not what Troy means." Jeremiah raised his hand, a silent urge that his friend find his bearing and clarified. "He just means that she wouldn't feel comfor-"

"She's my child, my blood and you owe me Otto. It's the least you can do." Gone was the amicable James and gone the patience with this back and forth talk. The undertone of his words clearly upset Jeremiah, but he didn't say anymore and sighed.

Feeling that he made his point, James pushed the chair backwards as he rose. "I need your boy to watch his mouth." He gestured at Troy with a bob of the head, rolled his tongue inside his cheek and tapped his index finger on the oak desk to make a point, "and I need this handled."

"I heard you the first damn time, James. It'll be dealt with." Jeremiah's voice raised and octave, the words were clearly squeezed under a conscious guilt that wasn't anything recent. He rather not have to deal with menial stuff, but he wasn't going to run away from his responsibilities as a leader.

 

-

"I need you stay away from James and his family." After their father gave his youngest son a long castigation about leadership, responsibility and this childish mess being on him, Jake pulled him aside. Troy pressed his back into the wooden pillar of their family porch and disinterest looked elsewhere, already fed up and bored with this situation. His eyes squinted, the frown left a deep indent between the space of his brows as he watched the large land below he grew up in. The Ranch grew up out of the pale green hills as if it had always been part of the scenery. The area, not always a safe place to explore for him as a child. But Troy would never exchanged his home for anything else.

Of course there were the chores and responsibilities. Since recently, the militia and his job to keep the people here safe was added to that. But that's how Troy felt his importance and duty molded. How he could fulfill his calling and know he was needed like never before. Needed not only by others, but needed by his father to safeguard this place from the dead and outsiders alike. These were disorganized times and a pandemic threatened not only Broke Jaw, but the country and most likely the world. Playtime was over and now was the time to fulfill the purpose he was primed for his whole life.

"Troy." Jake repeated his name when the latter saw his sibling's attention wander further and further. He knew his little brother like the back of his hand. But ever since the end of the world, Troy's urges and antics became harder and harder to tamper and control. Now, an infected made it on the ranch and nearly killed their new guest, because of small-minded individuals. And again, Troy was behind the scenes  _allowing_  this to be done under his watch and approval. Their newly set up and organized militia, while not many in number, all turned to his younger brother for guidance. They'd follow his orders without argument and even if they crossed lines so easily, Troy clearly didn't care if that meant safety for the Ranch.

Finally, Troy looks in his direction, but his attention didn't seem fully there. "You think I would be stupid enough to risk an infected strolling on the ranch?" He asked.

"You  _allowed_  that risk to happen the moment that thing was put inside her cabin." Jake emphasized, a heat inside his voice carried that accusation. Even though he was completely different from Troy in personality and held opposing views to his little brother, Jake didn't want society crumbling be a reason for Troy to fully plunge into this sadistic and foul darkness. He struggled with this since their childhood and this was just evening his playing field and flipping his state of mind that he was in the right.

"She said that the only way she would leave if one of us killed her." Troy shrugged, his response tepid as his shoulders bounced indifferently. "It was a challenge. Some accepted it and in the process got too excited with the execution."

Jake balked at first, so accustomed he was to the way of Troy and his temper tantrum that balanced on either callousness or outbursts that made him do the unthinkable. Nothing they did wrong in his eyes, it was such a base and childish reason to go this far. Jake had to find his bearings and exhaled.

"Just- just promise me you won't bother her anymore. You went too far this time. Let the others take it too far."

"What's that? You got a little crush there Jake?" Troy teased with a mocking smile, "you'd choose an outsider over family? Over your  _own_  people?"

"I'm solving an issue, that never should've been one in the first place. Remember what dad just said about responsibilities?" Jake questioned, reminding him and trying a completely different approach. One that kept Troy at bay more often than not. "He gave you this role because he thinks you can handle it. Because he needs you to handle this like an adult and be ready for when it's just the two of us." Jake maintained eye contact as he watched Troy absorb his words and then dampened the situation to pull him away from that vengeful streak he possessed when he thought he had to prove himself right and others wrong.

"You have command and it can't be muddled by distractions and reacting to provocations or letting your men run rampant. It's up to you to stay calm, collected and make the right decisions. Sometimes that means setting an example for when that line's been crossed."

"You think punishing them for a-"

"Do it for the Ranch. Not for her." Jake gently pleaded and stretched his arm out to lightly squeeze his brother's shoulder. "It's your call brother."  
  
  
  
  


 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

"Doing the cruddy chores doesn't sound like much of a punishment." Hailey said with a deeply entrenched frown. Biting her nails clean, she and Cristine listened to the news shared by their father. Apparently the two people on patrol at the time, on the account of negligence, weren't allowed to go on runs. Instead they had to do the chores that were just a pain in the ass.

"The two on patrol won't go on runs until further notice. That's the hardest they can be punished, believe me. The amount of people in the Militia aren't enough to spare and most enjoy time away from the ranch." James explained and took a seat on the edge of the table. Giving Cristine one over, remembering her bloodied form, how she dealt with that resurrected, and the offensive stance as if she has had to take on the world by herself... it rerouted within his brains like a broken record with every wandering thought.

"What're you thinking about Birdie?" James asked, voice careful.

Cristine shrugged, a forced smile on her lips with her answer, "if I wasn't here and left like I plan-"

"Don't." James shook his head, "please don't. This is not your fault, never was, and will be. I should have said something sooner. I should've listened to you. But instead I was naive and sure that you didn't have to deal with this because I am your father."

Cristine looked down at her fists on the table, expression hidden from her sister and father. If this was the best 'punishment' that came out of this attempt on her life, then it meant that she had to make herself useful to this place. Cristine never put high expectations on the things she could not directly influence, so she wasn't angry or disappointed how this had played out. Her father had done his best for her, but she wasn't going to kumbaya and neither were her Troy and his men.

Guilt ridden words from her father wouldn't fix this for her either. It was why she didn't go to him in the first place, even under Hailey's pressure. She wanted to see what he'd do, what he could and would do as a so called Founding Father. Not as her father, because that would just be getting her hopes up and ending up disappointed with the outcome.

Biting her lip, Cristine raised her head again when roughed hands covered the back of her palms. The pain and guilt misting through his eyes for her well being. It warmed her heart in the moment, so she simply locked her fingers around his and sat in this peaceful moment. Choosing this moment to think of the most perfect memory of her father, Cristine clung to it. She chose it because in this moment, he was the person he should have been had it not been for their deeply rooted family issues.

"Daddy's right." Warmed by her father and sister's intimate moment, Hailey witnessed the shifting on Cristine's face before she stepped forward to comfort het sister. Rubbing the curve of her shoulder, Hailey briefly smiled at her father's accepting nod. She really hated see her sister suffering so silently, sure they hadn't been on the best of terms and the contact had been strained, but that didn't mean she didn't love her. They'd have to work through their issues together and Hailey thought this was a good time as any.

"It'll get better, I'm sure of it." Rubbing soothing circles trying to remain understanding. There was nothing wrong with breaking down once in a while or asking for help and Hailey felt that her sister needed to know that her emotions were very much valid, not a burden or a sign of weakness. She could only be strong for so long and Hailey was secretly glad that this insane ordeal brought the them closer together.

"Hailey? James? Are you here?" The soft-spoken voice outside the cabin turned the atmosphere inside thin. The daughter, father, sister moment short lived. Her father's comforting hands easily slipped away from his eldest and Cristine looked at the figure of her father waltzing towards the door. She saw him struggle with the door knob for a bit before pulling it open.

Between the opening, she spotted Dolores in an instant. Jerking her gaze elsewhere, Cristine absently rubbed at the outlines of her wrists. The gentle touch of Hailey's hand on her shoulder put in the back burner. The hushed talking, occasional head turn from their father with the forced smile of his lips deprived from spirit. Whatever he and his wife were talking about didn't seem pleasant.

The elderly woman never once came in to see how her stepdaughter fared. Cristine dropped her tense shoulders and unconsciously wrapped her arms around herself and stared at nothing in particular. She prepared herself for the moment her father would withdrew his comfort and softness from her, as soon as he showed it to her. How soon he would give her that half-hot and half-cold ice temper and would sit there as some mediator between her and his wife. Sit across her as a victim and waited to be soothed, waited for her to go along with whatever planted seed from his dearest wife.

Cristine already felt drained thinking about it, a cold drop in temperature when it was such a hot day. Finally, their father spoke and directed his speech to his youngest. "Hailey. Your mother needs your help."

"Can't it wait?" Hailey asked, almost incredulous by the sudden request. Her eyes quickly darted in her sister's general direction, her posture closed off and slightly protective.

Cristine chewed on the inside of her lip, dug her nails into either side of her arms. The slight drop in the air after the reasonable question not quite falling right with her mother.

"Pat and I have our hands full in the kitchen. We can't spare any hands at the moment. You can come back later to talk to Cristine. I'm sure she doesn't mind."

Feeling utterly drained from her father's prodding look, as if it was Cristine's decision to make and hers alone, she relented. "It's fine Hailey." The brunette coolly assured her little sister.

"But Cris-"

"There's chores that need to be done. Talk to you later, alright?" She reached out for her hand and rubbed Hailey's knuckles softly. One look over her shoulder and Cristine smiled lightly in assurance, the tense cord in her blue eyes ignored.

"If there's something I can do, just tell me alright?"

"I will."

Hailey wrapped both arms around her sister's neck and planted a brief kiss on her cheek. The action warmed Cristine's heart and after the light pat on her forearm, egged her to go and watched Hailey step between her parents. Seeing her sister there, the alien sensation of looking from the outside in was intensified. She saw the three of them, but at the moment didn't feel as if that action was returned.

 _"Look at me."_  The small voice in her mind grated on her mind. It was like a vice on her heart and it squeezed with the right grip for it to be a constant pain. She hadn't felt this ache in a very long time and yet it surprised her how easily it managed to creep its way back inside her psyche. Staring at the parting figures of Hailey and her stepmother just annoyed her.

When did the point come at which they talked and the healing began? Where was the limit of this clear disregard? When came the pointy at which her father outed his wife for her hypocrisy, her faults and the help began? Because Cristine needed to know; she really needed to know now.

"Birdie? Do you need anything else?" James saw the stiffness of his firstborn, mistaking it for her anger of what happened hours before. His face turned from serious to worried again and in the quiet moment approached her.

"Just tell me what you need and I'll do my best to get it for you."

"I just want to be alone right now." If there was one thing Cristine was good at, it was hiding when she was upset with others. Hid it, until it became too much to bear. She'd always bore with it.

"Are you sure?"

"Daddy, please." Her voice balanced on fragile and indifference. A mood that wasn't unfamiliar to her father. James shifted near the table and bend over to plant a soft kiss on her temple.

"Come to me when you need to."

After the door shut, it was as if Cristine could finally be. Her face creased and her fists closed so tight she felt the sweat trapped inside them. That's when she heard the small sound, like a child who'd lost something important. The salt on her lip and the burn in her eyes made Cristine realize that that sobbing child was none other than her. Self-conscious when she cried, she quickly rubbed at her eyes only to catch more tears between her fingers, raining down on the parched soil.

 _"This makes no damn sense. Why the hell are you crying like some brat? You're a grown woman."_  Her breathing was ragged, gasping and the strength left her body. Streaks of fire burned her throbbing cheeks. Each new wave a hot trail of shame and anger that burned under her skin. A lump filled her heart as the sentiments brewed over and boiled past the stitches she could barely hold together-

A gentle knock on the door.

Startled in her bottled grief, Cristine quickly wiped the wetness from her cheeks. Unprepared of who it could be, she quickly raised the walls that made her feel secure. The chair scraped over the wood, boots and crutch thump from the continual stride to her door.

"Cristine? It's Jake. Are you in?"

Cristine's stopped in her step, clearly not in the mood to mingle with yet another Otto member. She had her share of this lovely family for today. Rubbing the small space of the bridge of her nose, she debated pretending she wasn't in her cabin.

"I saw James leave. This won't take long, I just want to check on you."

She didn't want that.

But as unwilling as she felt, Cristine sucked it up and cracked the door halfway open. Any sign or betrayal of her previous breakdown nonexistent and her visitor wasn't any the wiser.

Cristine deliberately held the door open in a way that the space was just enough to squeeze herself through. She clearly didn't want to invite Jake and stood ramrod like a statue, eyes narrowed and face tightly drawn.

Picking up on the not so subtle signs of aversion send his way, Jake relaxed his own posture and asked, "how are you?"

"Good. I'm alive."

"I heard what happened with- I want to apologize on behalf of my brother. You don't deserve any of this and I'm sorry it went this far."

 _"You can all stick your sorry up your ass."_  Cristine bit her tongue to voice those exact same words out loud. The fact that Jake was apologizing for the acts and deeds of his sibling, a  _grown_  man, was just mind boggling. But then again, the happenings of the past days were either well hidden from the community or merely ignored.

Cristine guessed the latter.

Jake was a diplomat at heart and wanted a middle ground for the hard working woman. He really wanted to make her feel welcome. "I'm definitely not excusing what my brother has allowed to happen to you. I promise, he won't bother you or your family anymore. I made sure of that."

Cristine sized the older man up and down with her dark eyes, skepticism oozing from her body like the sweltering heat from the sky. What was the use of telling her this? The woman felt agitated by all the apologies and excuses. In fact, Cristine was pissed she wasn't indifferent towards this all. Hate was a feeling too and as long as those emotions were present in her system, it meant she was bothered by the Survivalists, her stepmother, her position in this place  _and_  Troy.

"I want to move on."

Jake was pleasantly surprised by her rather bland response, but he didn't detect any false intentions in her words. Cristine clearly  _wanted_  to forget this whole ordeal, even if the acrimony seeped through her skin and was visible in her defensive body language.

"That's good. That you want to move past this. I- uh, I'll leave you to rest. You don't have to worry about the rest of your chores and can take the day off." The kind smile, left her unfazed and Cristine watched Jake saunter off back into the direction of the tents, campers and people.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Troy chapter. This was the most difficult, but interesting one to write so far. Burry me in feedback and criticism if he's not in character. That's the last thing I want for our boy! Other than that... enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

This was the militia's first mission so far away from the Ranch. Jeremiah wanted Troy and his men to go on a different supply run. He showed him one of the maps and the area they were headed to to get fuel. His father drew a red circle, marking the area near Tijuana. Apparently, it was a military area. They were supposed to see what was left and take what they could back home.

If the military was still active there, they'd have to be cautious.

This was definitely a task to Troy's liking!

Away from the Ranch, scout the area and keep an eye out for the amount of people that crossed the border. There were more of them lately, trying their luck here. It confirmed his theory that the dead rising went beyond the borders.

There weren't that much volunteers eager to join this run. As usual. It were usually the same people: Blake, Jimmy, Coop and a handful of others. Most of them skilled with weapons, which was not an uncommon thing to see on the Ranch, as the majority grew up with guns in their households. His best friend, Mike sat this one out, his skills better equipped to keep an eye out on the Ranch itself.

Willy wasn't allowed to come, bringing an infected on the Ranch just to win a bet they made. Jake was right; it was a risk. Of course, the man was pissed but Troy had been thinking about Jake's words, the new and heavy responsibilities he now had as a leader. He disliked having to work with one man less. One as experienced as Willy absent would weaken the group. But Jake's words made sense to him now. Bringing the Ranch in danger was not the smartest thing to do.

Even if she did ask for it.

 

-

It took them two days to reach the military base. It was humongous and roaming with dead. Apparent that civilians and soldiers alike were holed up here once, until things turned so bad and were nothing more than dead meat now. At least, they didn't have to waste bullets by killing people for this supply run.

Their arrival was quick, organized and not one person stepped out of line. They refueled their cars and trucks. Much to Troy's joy, the group was able to collect the leftover guns, ammo and even swipe a few intact military vehicles and uniforms. He felt like a boy having his fill in a candy shop.

The shifts for the night and supply runs for the day were scheduled. Troy wanted to take anything and everything back home. Jimmy took stock off it all. As long as the long haired man was busy, he wouldn't complain about Willy being left behind and curse James's daughter from hell and back.

The next day, Charlene arrived together with Jake. Charene was their only helicopter pilot around and the Ranch was lucky to have her. They loaded the first batch of firearms, clothes, bottled water and MRE boxes for the Ranch. None of the two the wiser that while this was a fuel run first, Troy also had a trip planned to the border with his team.

His father requested it, a side mission of sorts, to check how everything fared there. The people crossing from Tijuana to the States were always an issue, even before the world ended. The cartels and traffickers from Mexico brought a cycle of ongoing violence and chaos with them. Ever since he was a child, Troy remembered his father cussing their no good leaders, their lack of strength to stand up and harshly deal with the invaders from coming into their country. They didn't protect their citizens and left them no choice but to do it themselves.

So the Otto's, neighbors and closest friends armed up against these threats to protect and defend their families. And with the already nonexistent borders now completely unregulated, Troy was convinced the situation had turned for the worse. Aside from fighting the dead, the fight against people was an additional challenge the Ranch had to overcome.

Troy wouldn't and couldn't allow having all sorts of people crossing the borders. It'd be a risk for their home and the place they got their supplies from.

 

-

It was Troy's shift inside the watchtower near the entrance. Staring through the night vision scope of his rifle, Troy saw the staggering shades of the dead. As he expected, most came from the border and were drawn by the commotion of gunshots earlier in the afternoon when clearing the depot. Troy couldn't help but chuckle at the futility of the dead's endless scratching on the iron walls. Not even using their broken down intelligence for an entrance.

Daily, Troy wondered how their thought processes decayed into nothing, leaving these mindless shells driven by an instinct to simply eat. Eat and never get full, growling like mindless animals. So far, they only reacted to stimuli, but there was one more thing. Troy noticed that, as he intently watched the small group slowly grow in size; they never reach out for each other.

They just stretched their dirty and dingy fingers towards meaningless things, like they wanted to reach the faint noise first no matter what. Their jaws moved, teeth clacked audible and like dolts grunted and groaned in need of a new meal.

_"They only eat fresh."_

That was easy enough to figure out, making Troy earnestly wonder what it was that signaled the difference. When was the moment one turned dead from a bite? When did a living person spoil after being torn apart by the dead? Did whatever caused this infection, rot the body in an instant or take time until it deterred the dead their voracious appetite? Troy wrote all these questions down, simply cause it defied all modern science known to man.

Decomposition of the body started immediately after death. The heart stops pumping, depriving the cells oxygen. Cells need oxygen and when they didn't get it, they break down. All cells need oxygen to exist, and Troy read that different cells die at different rates. Brain cells take mere minutes, while, skin cells can survive up to 24 hours. And since it just took a shot to the head to take an infected down, Troy more or less guess that whatever sickness the dead carried in their bodies manifested in the brain.

But who was patient zero?

He listened to most of the broadcasts at the start. There were random cases of a spreading disease reported in the big cities such as; Washington, Atlanta, Florida, California, heck even across the border in Mexico this unknown virus spread. Big Otto suspected either the government or terrorists to be at fault. There weren't any detailed reports, but his father didn't believe it was just that simple. Fortunately, they were safe on the Ranch and well-prepared for anything imaginable when the unimaginable caught everyone off-guard.

Corpses resurrected and ate people alive.

Jake was still in the city at the time, but he didn't stay there for too long because his father called him back. Fellow Survivalists arrived before it turned worse. With the clues gathered from their stories, Troy mapped out all cases of the dead rising. The news reported it, but they were too vague about it just urged people to calm down.

Tapping on the edge of his weapon, Troy decided to perform some small testing on the now dozen or so dead at the wall. If these things didn't attack each other, that could safe them the effort of having to waste bullets to put them down. The sound would simply draw more. Troy's personal goal was to find out as much as possible about the dead before returning back home.

His father was cautious, as he should, when they needed something from outside. That's why most of their runs were on a volunteer basis. Much to Troy's dismay, not many people were eager to go out. It was the same people that risked it, in spite of the plenty young and fresh blood. Heck, most were familiar with a gun, so it wasn't a gun issue.

The people were scared of the unknown, of the dead, and Troy quickly coined them as sheep. He didn't understand their fear, but he got over it. His focus on carrying the burden of leading the militia, researching the dead, and protecting his people from outsiders.

That night in the watchtower, Troy performed some simple tests. He threw small object over the wall, in the direction of the dead below. Whenever something connected with one's body, the moaning increased in agitation. It attracted the attention of the rest, but they didn't grab their fellow dead because of the sound it made. It was a brief moment of distraction for them before returning to their incessant grunting.

Troy peered through the goggles of his newfound nigt vision and while he threw some empty soda cans down, and the dead walked where the stones hit the ground. One walked towards the source of the noise, a few following and bumping one another before coming to a standstill. They never attacked each other, and just stood there like ugly molded statues.

Before they'd go to the border tomorrow to check on any crosser, Troy had to test this idea. It was a continuous loop inside his mind. He only needed a few of the dead to make it happen and lucky for him, they weren't scarce.  


 

-

Blake and Jimmy helped Troy carry the dead inside one of the storage rooms. It was early in the morning and they captured three of them. He didn't have to do much convincing, they needed to know what they were dealing with and aside from the bite and a shot through the head, they didn't know a damn thing about them.

"Double check to make sure they're tied." Troy gestured at the wriggling dead. Wrists locked and mouths taped from biting or scratching anyone in their vicinity. After checking that they couldn't escape or wring themselves free because of human error, Troy ripped the tape from one's mouth, ripping off some skin.

Instantly, the dead's grating snarls and clicking teeth occupied the room and the sound bounced from wall to wall. The incessant noise almost a demand for the men to come close and become its next meal. It cared not that in doing so, the men that survived the world until now would've done so in vain.

Troy stood closest and both dead moved without tiring, without getting bored. They were never quiet, not even with the men barely moving. They could probably smell them from a mile away and that's what stimulated them to move. While taking out his journal, Troy's pencil scratched on the paper and wrote down his thoughts before he looked at Jimmy.

The long haired man brought the box, prepared specifically for today. One of the guys caught a rabbit and the meat was prepared in three manners. First, a raw piece of meat, second, a cooked piece and the third and last piece was left out in the sun to rot and spoil.

Troy fed it the first leg and once the meat was close to its teeth, devoured it like an animal. Its focus solely on the raw flesh. It kept chewing like mad and for minutes the infected wasn't focused on the spectators, but the meat.

When the second leg dangled in front of its's mouth, the animalistic reaction to devour was slower than the first, but Troy deduced that since it was still meat the infected would eat it too. It did, but this time, it didn't eat all of it at once. For some reason it stopped halfway gnarled and hissed at them like before.

Now the reaction to the final rotten animal flesh was really what Troy wanted to test. He already knew they only ate fresh, but testing it was the only way to be sure. Troy was so concentrated on the dead's reaction that when he saw it fully ignore the rancid rabbit leg, hissing back in agitation, a smile crept on his face.

He was right!

"All right boys. I know how to keep the wasted away without squandering bullets," Troy said more to himself than whatnot. He cocked his head at the two mindless corpses that 'lived' in a sense, but just grunted and tried to bite like the asinine creatures that they were. They constantly focused on the living. They never interacted like before again, because the living and anything not spoiled and made of meat must seem like a fancy barbecue to them.

To Troy, this advancement in nature represented the endless cycle of life through death. A new type of evolution that was both beautiful and a mystery to him. He didn't find it frightening or horrendous like the majority of the people. The end of the world was hell for most, but Troy had never felt so alive. He could finally start living and fulfill the purpose he was prepared for ever since he was a boy.

With that twinkle in his eyes and the beaming simper on his stretched lips, Troy rose from his hunches and wiped his hands on his pants.

"It's going take a lot of wasted and the smell is gonna make you hurl, but it'll pay off in the long run."  


 

-

It was warm and Troy wiped his brow with the end of his sleeve before dumping the fallen corpse on the small heap. After stretching his muscles and rolling the joints of his bones, he watched the others follow his example by carrying the freshly mown dead and piling them on separate little hills.

Wrinkling his nose from the stench, only turning worse from the heat, Troy thought of the water reserves back at the Ranch. Where they lived was always hot and first always stocked up with bottled water. But with the stores likely swiped clean first, the nearby water dam unmanned or taken over by people.

They had enough to drink, owned a reservoir and that would last. But for how long? He would have to discuss this with Jake and his father. It was something important they'd have to make plans for and prevent panic back home.

Plan for the future.

"Spread out as many as possible so that the smell disperses when they're burned out!" Troy barked, voice pitched out of impatience and much ado. He wanted as many of the dead in area, most near the gate and placed strategically as a perimeter. All morning, the militia attracted freaks from outside, put them down before being amassed. Troy hadn't seen the glossy and confused eyes of his group and most didn't dare question the leader.

They just did as he ordered, an unspoken sign of respect and a little fear they possessed for him. It was also why they rather follow the younger Otto whose actions spoke louder than words. He was the complete opposite of Jake and Troy's natural charismatic nature was what made the militia members gravitate more easily towards him. Even if Troy was far from a people person himself.

Collecting the dead had taken more than Troy estimated. They were meticulous to cover all blind spots from potential wasted entering the depot. As the fumes were irritating to the nose, throat and eyes, during the initial burning everyone covered those area with improvised masks.

One by one the dead, permanent dead heaps were burned. Poured gasoline on them, lit up a match and watched the corpses broil into a crisp around the bur. Troy watches with motionless eyes and threw a match to bring the flames in again. The heat pressed into his body, sweat seeping through his pores. This time, he watched intently until a black wisp of smoke curled ascended, eddying in the sweltering summer afternoon like the stroke brushes of a painter. A second later, as the fire grew, an orange flame consumes the work entirely and the acrid fumes stung his eyes.

Despite the irritation in his slightly reddened eyes, a sly grin cracks on Troy's face. This new discovery one he absolutely needed to share with his father for the Ranch. It was a good tactic to reroute potential dead from heading their way. The soil nearby too fresh and young to risk for it to be polluted by the burned bodies.

The stench quickly became unbearable and one or two puked their lunch out because of it. Troy was that fazed by it, sure it was unpleasant, but a lot of things were. Nodding more at himself, Troy jogged in the direction of the watchtower.

It took him two hours to be completely certain of his discovery. The barrier he and the rest build against the dead complete. More importantly, it was successful. Troy watched from above and saw barely any dead pass by, completely ignoring the base. As if they were invisible from them, no- more accurately blended in with them.

Troy ordered for the whole depot to be littered with dead. He didn't care how long it'd take them. If that meant staying longer than planned, then that was what it took. Troy had a plausible reason and the trip to the border would have to be postponed for a day.

They'd use the people there as bait to prevent any contingencies. The militia was armed to the teeth and had a whole military base to their disposal. It was a shame if someone took what they found first and practically claimed it as theirs now. He had to prevent them from entering the country, like his father always did in the past. Like he would do now as the one responsible for defending his people.

Their last day out, a day longer than planned and Troy and his men visited the border. As expected, there were people freely crossing the line that separated Mexico from the States. It was early in the morning, the air was dry and Troy ordered his men to take their position.

This was their land, their playing field and Troy be damned if it was taken over by these aliens. They'd defend it with their lives, make an example out of them for the traffickers, cartels and whoever tried to cross.

Glaring through his scope, Troy squinted ahead with the focus of a hawk. His jaw clinched when spotting their guns. After evening out his shallow breath, he lined himself on the ground to find the perfect shot for the enemy down below.

Exhaling, Troy's focus stretched. Blood pumped through his veins when his other senses jumped in action. Otherwise, his body seemed to float along and his thoughts turned to a single focus: shoot and kill.

Troy zeroed in on who he thought was the leader and with his finger on the trigger, a dry popping echoes. The bullet spat out and hit his target in the head, propelling him backward in an awkward cartwheel. The man fell.

For a few seconds Troy looked away, his lip twist with a faint sneer. It oozed pride and disdain at all the taco heads coming here. They were nothing in his eyes and a worthless bunch of cowards that never knew real freedom. Only here to cause trouble, steal and take over what wasn't theirs to take.

"Hahaha, look at them run!" Blake jeered from his position and Troy pressed his face back into his scope. The figures scurried pathetically like dumb chickens with no heads. They had to die, young and old, children and women. No mercy for any of them.

Then, Troy watched dead slowly emerge from the crevices between the cars. He raised his fist and the gunshot around him ceased. Narrowing his eyes, Troy coldly watched as they were attacked, feeling absolutely no remorse or pity for them. He was disappointed they couldn't finish the job, but he'd use the dead to their advantage. They were on a clock and the depot was completely sealed and protected by the littered and burned dead. No person, dead or alive, would be able to get in.

"Fun's over! Round up and pack our stuff. We need to head back home."

 


	10. - Cristine -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but this one is to give ya'll a side of Cristine that's rarely portrayed in my story; her vulnerability, guilt and fears. It's a short one, but the next chapter will be up soon ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

Cristine took a few deep breaths. Her cabin was completely silent. Completely dead. Her vision blurred from unshed tears as she chanted to herself. The cool steel of her Bowie knife gripped in both hands shaky. She sat on the floor with her back pressed into the bed.

A trip down memory lane, the horror show she experienced in real life. Getting out just in time. Escaping the very first community that should have kept her and the citizens safe. Escape a paranoid group who planned on chopping her and innocents into tiny pieces.

"You did the right thing." Easier said than believed at this point. But she lately she had to believe it even more. It was her call in a sense, after all. She remembered the dingy and warm air of that basement. Remembered the trolley that was pushed inside.

What she got to see, taking in the blood and gore with her own two eyes. The sight stung the back of her throat and tickled her lungs. The faceless person stacking all the bodies up in a pile at the back of the room. She remembered the white collar around his neck as it stood out from his black uniform. Familiar faces. Haggard faces. Weak faces. Plump face. Crying faces.

She'd definitely made the right call. She had to... or they'd be dead. She'd be dead.

There was a rabid gleam to her eyes and Cristine clenched the cold steel tighter until her skin and bones were pulled so tight it began to hurt

 

There was a rabid gleam to her eyes and Cristine clenched the cold steel tighter until her skin and bones were pulled so tight it began to hurt. She felt sick to her stomach as her mind raced, then the images of red twisted and turned until clenching her eyes shut. She struggled against her memories, trying to claw herself back up as they suffocated her.

"Don't think about it. They're dead now. I wasn't wrong... you protected the group... the group wasn't safe and you made that call. Don't regret it. There is no room for regret and sorry anymore."

Cristine bowed her head and keeled into herself.

The only focus, the only thing able to calm her and wash these foul thoughts away was the face of her father and sister. Thinking of them, flooded her consciousness with an unexpected calmness. "They are the only ones in this world I can trust." Despite not having them physically near her, Cristine's lucidity slowly resurfaced from the dark crevices of her mind.

She'd been having these small panic attacks more frequently. When she was still out, the terror of living and clearing dead more important than anything else. Now she was behind walls, slept more often and much safer than outside. It was far from perfect and ideal for her, but this was the best thing Cristine had in ages.

Now, her mind and body were playing tricks on her and Cristine wondered if she'd ever get a break. A light scoff, "as if." Her eyes remained glued on the front door.

Everything in life was about angles. Use and abuse to get what you want. Whoever got hurt in the process, but a minor detail. And on the Ranch, she was a minor and inconvenient detail. Now, she had enough time to recuperate, her leg completely healed and her body back to its full strength. She kept herself under the radar, endured, and now that menace was gone for a few days.

Her shoulders visibly drooped and this moment in her room, after rearranging her muddy mind, was the only part of the world that mattered, that existed. Unclenching her reddened palms from the knife's hilt, Cristine rubbed her puffed out hair: she was ready to prove her true worth to this place now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

It's already dark, and the night wind brushed against Cristine's nape. She shivered, and wondered if it was due to the chill, or her own mind. She discarded all her reservations and arrived at the cabin building of her father, Dolores and Hailey, no evidence indicating any sort of welcome. The faint lights seeping through the windows, gave far less illumination than the meanest lightbulb, yet it was all Cristine's eyes could take. By the flickering orange and yellow in the cabin, the shapes of the furniture is discernible.

Cristine felt the lasting unease at the beginning of her trip down here worsen. Rigidly, she lifted her palm to her stomach and pressed against it to soothe her volatile nerves. "It's fine. This is important." Cristine inwardly chanted to herself and rhythmically steadies her breathing. "This isn't for your or daddy's sake, but for everyone here."

Adhering to the restored calmness of her mind, Cristine reopened her eyes, revealing a pair of cool dark orbs. Her body escaped from the imaginary pressure from before she knocked on the less intimidating single door.

"How are you feeling?" The gentle gaze of her father's eyes comforted her and untied the knots inside her stomach.

"Better." Nodding, Cristine smiled before she occupied her hands with the tin cup with water. Her father gave her space, unlike her smothering baby sister, and today she was in the right headspace to talk with him. Not about her, but about the world now, her experiences and an important information that was useless hiding now.

The world wasn't going to get better.

"That's good to hear." Her father's eyes opened wider, keeping the smile. His demeanor calm, questions patient and body relaxed, offering no ongoing conversation of his own. Not until his daughter was ready to share whatever it was that was on her mind. Unlike his youngest daughter, Cristine saw the world through his eyes, and it was a good thing that was the case with the world gone to hell. She saw a world of uncertainty, danger, and the worst in human beings. His chest clenched with a mixture of guilt and pride because those qualities allowed her to live as long as she did and find her family.

She was a fighter, a survivor and the child of his wife; his first love.

A ghost of a smile tugged at James's drumming heart before quickly blinking past the budding pressure in his orbs and scratched his throat.

"Daddy, I need to tell you something." Cristine began, voice clear and crisp. The manner in which she raised her chin so that she peered right back at him, elicited the faintest frown on his wrinkled face. She saw his lips purse and absently rub his cup between his calloused and old palms.

"About where I was before I found you and Hailey. About my job."

Shifting in his seat across from his mature daughter, Cristine appealed in her naturally soft-spoken voice. "There- there isn't a cure for all of this."

A silence. An irrevocable silence.

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"How?"

Scenario's and conspiracies began to twist and form inside James his mind. The dead rising was nothing anyone expected, yes, but most of the people here still had hope a cure would be found. The government wouldn't be as functional as before, no, but it fell. Like Jeremiah, the Founding Fathers said it would. They'd start over with their own rules and rebuild the world.

Without the dead coming back to life.

"Aside from doing my residency training, I also had the chance to intern at the San Francisco Department of Health; specifically at the Disease Prevention & Control section  
"Aside from doing my residency training, I also had the chance to intern at the San Francisco Department of Health; specifically at the Disease Prevention & Control section." Cristine gauged her father's facial expression that tightened with each and every word she spoke, "it was my vacation and... you guys weren't home when I went there for a surprise visit. So, I used that time to help my mentor with some fieldwork for a strange flu that had been spreading for a while. None of us knew what it was. We just thought it was to collect some samples from the people infected and go back to research its origins."

"..."

With furrowed brows did Cristine divert her eyes from her father's expressionless face to the shiny cup clamped in both hand. The tiny light that came from the lamp traced their mien's and her full lips were drawn into a taut line as she agitatedly rotated her jaw

Her father remained uncharacteristically unmoved. "Is it manmade?"

Cristine almost felt as if it wasn't the effort to answer the monster who, still haunted her in her dreams. "I- I don't know. I only know that with everything as it is now, this is it. No cure and we're all infected with whatever this thing is."

"What?!"

 

-

  
How was it?" Jeremiah asked the moment his youngest son hopped out of the tactical jeep. The glint inside his eyes and excitability was great, like he had come across something phenomenal. Troy didn't even wait until they arrived at their father's house and explained.

"The dead, I found a way to repel them. We can use that to redirect them away from the Ranch, while having enough distance to scout for anomalies." Troy quickly finished his ground breaking theory with a cheeky smirk. It displayed his pride of being the one to have discovered something valuable about dealing with the infected.

Jeremiah glanced at his oldest son Jake, who had a light dent between his brows, but unlike his worried first-born Jeremiah pleasingly eyed Troy and nodded in approval. It was one of the scarce pieces of good news, since the uprising of the undead barely a month ago.

"Good job. Since it's your discovery, you're in charge of securing a perimeter to keep the dead away."

Troy's shoulders straightened in reflex and the new assigned task from his father, boosted his confidence and acquiesced firmly.

"Roger that sir."

"How's the situation near the border? Did you find a lot of crossers?"

Troy paused for a mini second and tipped his chin down. The wrinkles in his father's face deepened with the distasteful, yet expected news. A simple sigh left big Otto's mouth before looking at both his sons.

"Nothing new, they've been trying to invade our lands longer than today. It's free game for those damn cartels too. We have to prep and find more volunteers who are willing to-"

**POP! POP! POP!!**

After the first shot, the Otto sons instinctively reached for their guns. Quick to respond, Troy burst off in the direction of the chaos and barked orders at his men. With Jake hot on his heels, screams and crying from women and children echoed all over the ranch.

"Vern, Vernon what the hell happened?!" Arriving at the scene, Jake grasped one his father's lifelong friends and fellow cofounder of the Ranch.

"T-They, she- it, it happened so fast. It walked around so freely and we couldn't kill it, until she-" Confused by Vernon's panicked and incoherent words spilling out, Jake followed his line of sight at the front. He immediately jumped in shock and the expression of horror creeped up his face.

Troy and a handful of militia quickly formed a protective semi-circle in front of the people and around the shovel wielding Cristine. She motionlessly towered above the writhing body half her size and had it pinned on the ground with the iron side of the scoop.

The crowd was as equally horrified by Cristine's callousness in trapping the smaller body down with the tip of the shovel, as they were by the child's unintelligent gnarling and hissing despite being maimed in the gut.

"How?"

Jake walked forward before he stopped next to Troy and looked at the boy, Cameron. He had seen the cheerful boy just this morning during breakfast with his parents. Troy scanned the scene to find some clues and more importantly the undead.

It was crucial to find the source of the infection and exterminate it. The only indication of a violent encounter was the pegged Pierce, who helplessly sat in the sand with his gun slack in his left hand. It had no ammo left as the inline magazine that could house seven bullets was empty.

Then there was Cameron's mother, being held back by one of Troy's men, who tried to be as careful with her as he could. She was short and pert in her struggling, momentarily too distraught to care about her round stomach and the life she carried. Red-faced, she kept chanting her son's name until her voice turned high pitched before she cussed Cristine to leave her little boy.

Jake was only able to piece parts of the puzzle together. Cameron had gotten infected, maybe even hid it from both his parents, and then this happened. Pierce, in his panic began to futilely shoot until he ran out of bullets. In the end it took Cristine to cripple the turned boy.

Troy's bark for an explanation halted Jake's analysis of the unfortunate incident. With his order, the threatening loop of his gun was cocked on the young woman.

"Troy." Jake sternly said and clenched his hand around his brother's shoulder. No matter how much he hated Cristine, it was illogical and unnecessary for him to aim his weapon or ire at her.

"What does it look like happened? I stopped this thing from attacking your people. Thought you'd be more grateful."

Cristine calmly answered with her back still facing everyone, as her head was angled down and tilted from time to time. She inspected the grunting and agitating boy for a while, but kept her thoughts to herself.

"No. No, that's not possible!" Paralyzed on the ground, Cameron's pregnant mother yelled out her voice vicious and ill-bearing. "What did you do to my baby!? He didn't get bit so what type of disease did you bring with you?!"

With the incredulous yell, that partially voiced many people's thoughts, Cristine stopped her silent examination and straightened her back. The moment she turned halfway around to face the mother, the partially hidden Cameron was visible to the rest of people.

Everyone sucked in their breath and most stepped back in fright. Other than the spastic and uncoordinated movements of the thin and willowy arms trying to futilely reach Cristine, the boy looked... normal without a single bite.

If the incoherent groans and continuous up and down clattering of his teeth still didn't convince anyone of his transformation, the fully entrenched spade through his little torso did. Even with the dark red blood mixed with dirt and pus spilling out, he cared more for the potential human flesh that could be in his reach.

Cristne arched both her brows, but quickly gauged the people's looks before she sneered  
Cristne arched both her brows, but quickly gauged the people's looks before she sneered. "Nothing he didn't get from you. He passed and came back. That's how it works."

"Bull, he must've been bitten and hid it from us or there's something you're not telling us." Troy argued back, half distracted by the high pitched growls that got louder with every new voice and sound it heard. "I see a pattern. Ever since we took you in, it's been one thing after the other."

"It still doesn't negate the fact that there weren't any casualties. Can you imagine what would've happened if you had to put your faith in that piss poor shot over there?" Irked of having to defend herself for every breath and blink she took, Cristine looked back at the little monster without any human disposition anymore and her eyes glazed over.

"Stop avoiding the damn question! What're you hiding?!"

"Troy! Troy! Put the damn gun down! I dare you to fire that gun again! Jeremiah tell your boy to stand down or I swear to-" In the midst of the boiling feelings and raging emotions, James deafening bellow was like a clap of thunder. Such was his rage. It was a roar of pure anger that even leveled out the dauntless Troy in slowly, but gradually lowering his gun.

"Cristine, are you okay? Are you hurt? Did you..." Like a switch, the previous rage that James carried with him was turned off the moment he approached his daughter. His baby blue gaze frantically perused over her body, hoping to find nothing.

Cristine spread out her arms and rocked her body from side to side and showed him her unblemished body. "Still good." She said, easing her mind and fixed her father with a stare that could freeze water instantly.

James his expression twitched and reflexively opened and closed his palms. Even after she neutralized the danger, why was she treated as the abnormality instead of the mindless one in the dirt?

"I know all of this is far from perfect, but the things you discovered before and after. The things you told me last night... everyone has a right to know. It won't help us find a cure, but it will help us survive, help us stay alive."

"James what the hell are you talking about? If you know something about the dead that we don't, it's your duty to share." Alarmed by the sudden turn in conversation, Jeremiah stepped inside the half closed circle. "Come one now dear listen to your father. You don't have to like it, but we are fighting against this together."

Cristine almost spat at the hypocrisy of it all, until her father calmed her down with a soothing grip on the shoulder. With a sigh she motioned towards the moving corpse with a short wave. "Like I said, little Cam over here wasn't bit. He died and came back."

  
"How do you know that?" Troy asked, getting impatient.

"What did he suffer from?" Her question was theoretical, as she didn't expect the mother to answer. Besides, the physical symptoms were abundantly clear to her.

"Skin rash, yellowing of the skin and spider angiomas, light swelling of the stomach. He wasn't as active as the other kids here, right? He probably got tired quickly and had a lot of pains..."

This time Cristine did look in the direction of Cameron's mother, the youthful woman in her early thirties was silent, but the tremor in her lips affirmed Cristine's spot on examination.

"With everything as it is now, it's impossible to get him treated for it. Finding the right medicine and equipment, it's hard."

"My husband... he- he went out to find Cam's medicine. It'll be alright." The woman flashed a smile that showed her aching and watched her son, dewy-eyed.

While the mother's grief was understandable, everyone knew that even if her husband found the right medication, it wouldn't matter. He'd come back to find something that wasn't his son anymore.

"Hm," Cristine hummed, neither defending or objecting to the woman's insistence. "Either way, it is complicated but there are really two ways how this works. The bite leads to fever that kills and you turn, it depends per person how long it takes. The longest I've come across was a full day."

"Now when you aren't bit or never come in contact with them and naturally die, that's where it gets interesting. The pathogen spreads in certain parts of the brain and revives its neural structures and turns a human into that."

"That still doesn't explain-"

"It's like the flue, one person gets sick and the bacteria spreads through the air, the water and infects the next person it comes in contact with like a wildfire. You can apply it to any disease, even this one. The only thing is, this one only turns active when the host dies. It means that so long as you live, the pathogen remains latent and is asymptomatic to the host."

"Cristine, just explain it in a way so that we all understand." James scratched his head lamely, even after hearing her explanation for the fourth time since yesterday, it was difficult to progress. When he finally understood the concept, James his mind just went blank and he hadn't slept well since then.

James initial plan was to let Cristine inform Jeremiah and the other founders of this before they brought it to the people. The discovery wouldn't be such a blow for the community if the leaders told it.

But then all of this happened.

The fact that Cristine had the chance to research this disease with her mentor, when the outbreak was still rumored to be some strange virus was still mind blowing to James. He knew she studied medicines and wanted to specialize in disease, but not this. And while the technology for a cure was most likely lost forever, this type of knowledge in these dark ages was something of a flickering light for them.

Cristine combed her fingers through her dark brown curls and sighed, "we're all infected. We all have the virus; male, female, young and old. You can even go as far as to say that it's hereditary."

"Why didn't you tell us this earlier?" Jeremiah's question was filled with disdain, as if it was her fault that a little boy came to his end and came back.

Cristine arched her brow, was he seriously blaming her for everything? Next thing she knew, they'd start prosecuting her for other people's fuck ups. The short laugh of incredulity shook her shoulders, but there was no humor in her face.

"Well with how well prepared you are, I figured you already knew the gist of the infection  
"Well with how well prepared you are, I figured you already knew the gist of the infection." A wide smirk flourished on her face, from stretching her lips inwards. "But what the heck do I know other than bringing in diseases and problems. Don't worry I'll be sure to remember my place and mind my own business."

"Cristine." Onyx eyes veered into blue ones, but this time she didn't want her father to reel her in with his nonsensical advise. This place was as toxic as the other place she tried her luck and a gnawing sensation in the back of her mind told her Broke Jaw would eventually fall too.

"Not this time daddy." She said to him before she eyed the crowd, Cameron just a buzzing background noise in her ears. "I've seen a lot of things in this world gone mad, but it's a first to see so many unhappy faces at the same time after lives were saved." Her smiled turned moderate and she finished her opinion with the wise words of her gramps

"Like my granddaddy used to say, a complaining tongue reveals an ungrateful heart."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

People have always been a bigger threat than the dead. Even before the apocalypse, people ruined the world. The living were more unpredictable than the dead. The living had wants, needs and while necessary only complicated things. Troy would never react so selfishly and withhold intel detrimental to his home. If the choice had been his to make, Troy would lock Cristine up.

The woman's declaration actually rendered him speechless, and for one short, sour moment, Troy couldn't help but feel annoyed by the flip of the script. It's the twitching of his fingers on his gun that reminded Troy he severely underestimated Cristine Gerrard.

He should've dug deeper as to who she was, what she did before. The look in his eyes was like ice, as he slowly he started to wonder.

 _"We're all infected. Bitten or not."_  The reveal was a surprise and Troy let his thoughts wander to that single, important fact. It changed everything now.

It mattered now how long it took before coming back. The time it took to end a friend or family. Time to bury their dead, how much time was needed to sit with a loved one, before they came back spoiled.

It changed how they survived now and dealt with loss and closure.

It mattered more than anything.

But first, he needed to know how the infection worked. Troy's icy blue eyes remained plastered on the Gerrard's. James, Hailey and even Dolores were seated at the table. The atmosphere looked off, fidgety and Troy quickly pieced together that their family dynamics were peculiar.

Hailey and James didn't know a damn thing about Cristine. This revelation came as much as a shock to the family as the rest. He'd burn whatever bridges with the head of that household, his respect for the veteran gone when the truth of his daughter came to light. True, James had given him pointers and advise on how to best deal with the security and such. He was patient with him and even complimented Troy for a job well done after their runs outside.

It was much more than his father had ever given him in his years here.

Still, James didn't seem to be mad with his eldest. On the contrary, he looked worried and Troy dare say sought out to comfort her. Troy didn't get it. She screwed up. If he'd pull a stunt like this and hide such crucial information from everyone, his father would have beaten his ass. Heck, the man would've disowned him. Troy remembered the appreciation inside his father's eyes when he shared the repellant tactic with him.

Tapping his fingers on the wooden table, Troy bit the inside of his cheek. It was only when he tasted the metal on his tongue that he realized he bit the  skin open.

These were dark times and they barely knew of the dead. Barely knew what they could do. How they migrated or their behavior. Troy had his theories and knowledge, yes. He didn't want to admit it, but the woman's intel would allow them to prepare for runs, tighten their security or any other potential contingencies. She had been closest to the infection. Had been outside between the dead. As much as he despised it, Troy would have to fake his interest in the woman. 

Just until she served her purpose and share it all with them- with him. But for that to happen, he needed to suck it up, get in her good graces and remain tolerant.

-

The night was a different shade of dark, the kind that served as a canvas to portray the stars in all their illuminating glory. It wasn't the cold and usual black. 

Troy's purposeful stride ended when his muddy boots thumped over the small wooden porch. Dark blue eyes glaring so hotly at the door, it was a wonder the thing hadn't burned down from the fiery shimmer in them.

Troy spent a good hour pacing his room annoyed. Conflicting and erratic thoughts collided in his mind as he wondered why he had to stoop this low for someone that wasn't trustworthy. The logical side of his brain understood that he just had to suck it up and take this one for the good of the Ranch.

A compromise for the many.

His knuckles rapped on the wood and Troy's ears strained when footsteps inside the cabin clamber heavily. He quickly wiped his palms against his pants, still wet from having washed them after his chores. He saw the door handle stiffly move, it hadn't been oiled for a while.

When the door parted, Troy relaxed and lowered his gaze when she appeared from the shadows of her badly lit cabin. Immediately her face and body went tense. The arm that held the door handle was tight and Troy was sure she'd slam it back in his face. It was funny to see how tense she became when in his presence. The fact that he had such an effect on her was hilarious to him.

Her dark eyes never left his lighter ones, as if removing her gaze would be the same as admitting defeat. She kept suspiciously silent, not even a hello or a sneer until Troy decided to break the ice.

"Evening." He greeted, raising his palms into his hips. "That was quite a day." He wet his lower lip.

"Yeah."

"We just buried Cameron, the boy that turned. I, uh, I wanted to check on you." The last part of his sentence just oozed fake all over. Troy wasn't a genuine liar and when things didn't interest him, it was noticeable in the way he spoke.

"Why?" Her eyes narrowed and Troy didn't miss how she looked over his shoulders, eyes alert. As if she was preparing herself for the worst to happen. That was good. She wasn't gullible or dumb. Then again, anyone would be on guard after having to fight an infected that popped from her room.

"Because of what you shared today." Since she didn't seem to plan on lowering her guard any time soon, Troy spoke earnestly. Cristine was intelligent enough to put two and two together and Troy was never good at small talk. He had no patience for it and it was best to just say what he wanted.

"I thought you knew." She shrugged and shifted on her fet, eyes darting over his shoulder again.

"We know now and that information opened many eyes. Heck, more people are volunteering for our supply runs and patrols. So that's good."

"I guess."

As difficult as it was for Troy to strike a meaningful conversation with her, some good came out of this hectic day. People were antsy, but their vigilance increased and he saw his militia gradually grow in number. It wasn't as much as he would've like, but it was a start.

Cristine rubbed the back of her nape with her palm from having to keep looking at him. His visit didn't leave much of an impression on her, which was fine in itself, but she wasn't as fired up when she talked about the infected.

Odd.

Before Troy could find another opening to talk about the wasted, Cristine cut him off with a straightforward question, "why are you here?"

Troy managed to feign a look of surprise, which resulted in a unimpressed arch of the brows, then his expression crumbled like pulling down a mask. Troy stepped back and chuckled, "to talk about the infected. What else?"

"I already shared what I know." Cristine did her best to end this conversation with the youngest Otto son.

"But you know more," He stated in a pitched tune, that served as an opening for her to clarify. "You know what happens when we spoil. How it spreads. Is it like a fungus or a parasite? It also resembles rabies in a way, with how they react all frenzied. The sickness transfers through a bite, so there's that. My guess is that how it spread makes it more similar to that."

Troy rambled, his mouth moving excessively. When the first wasted appeared on the Ranch, a fellow Survivalist named Geoff, it was his real contact with the dead. Troy first experimented on its senses. Those basic functions remained after resurrection, he dare even say they heightened. Then came its pain threshold. With no starting point, he'd gone to the limits and beyond of what the human body could handle.

It was a mess with all the blood, but Geoff only ever showed a keen interest in him. His jaw kept moving, kept twitching to reach out for him. Eventually, Troy beheaded the poor bastard and that's when things got really interesting. The body stopped moving at once, fell over dead as it should. It was then Troy realized that, whatever brought the bitten back. The virus that killed victims through the fever; was located in the head.

It was a sign of endless life.

"You need to leave."

An irrevocable pause.

Troy held his breath as her firm demand registered through his mind. He stared at Cristine for one long moment, almost gaping, until he scoffed. "You're a trip you know that?" He adds, then raised his hand to comb his fingers through his hair and dropped his shoulders.

"You have important, life altering information and you're being a brat by keeping it all to yourself." The accusation was hot on his tongue and his glower intensified in a manner that was on the wrong side of reason. He was done playing nice with this damn reject.

"You think you did something impressive?" Giving her no time to answer his rhetorical question, Troy did it for her. "What you did is make people despise you even more. You didn't have the decency to think about the greater good or your family. That's called being selfish and having  o loyalty. It has no place on the Ranch."

Cristine chuckled, "well, my disloyal and selfish self saved your herd of sheep." Troy didn't like the way her glower sized him up and down as if he was a joke. Aa if she questioned his intelligence. "Excuse me for not wanting to have this conversation with you. I was under the impression y'all didn't want me here."

"That hasn't changed, so don't get comfortable."

"So why are we having this conversation?"

Troy rolled his teeth over his lower lip and felt it sting on the skin. His jaw clinched and the glower in his eyes intensified. He actually thought of giving this outsider a chance. A chance to really prove her worth to them now, give her the opportunity to do something worthwhile.

"Don't let this get to your head. The day you served your purpose is the day you're gone. Dead or alive."

"That a threat or a promise?"

"It's whatever you want it to be." And with that, Troy turned and marched back to the the same way he came from. The anger in his stride was palpable. He was fuming and Cristine released a sigh. Her left hand slowly slid down the holster of her gun before wiping her clammy palm on the back of her pants.

She didn't know what the hell that just was, but it didn't bode well. Troy never willingly approached her like this. The times he did were to taunt or insult her and just now, the cold ice of that conversation pinched her skin. Cristine was left with a racing heart, even after the conversation was over. She had to be careful with him. Even more now that she knew things that clearly piqued his interest.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

It's been two days since Cristine delivered the news to the majority of the Ranchers and of course her father asked her to lay low and keep the answers to a minimum. He held her hand in a soothing manner, hands rough and calloused, but the grip was firm and manifested the worry.

"Tensions are high and people need to process everything." Cristine shook her head no, and pulled her hand out of his. Her father's eyes were glazed and he looked sluggish so early in the morning, as if he had a bad night of sleep. According to Hailey, he and the rest of the Founding Fathers had a meeting together early in the morning.

"You always talk as if I manage how the people here react to me. I got hounded at night, had a bullet through my leg on my first day, found my belongings gone or ruines. And recently had to fight a dead that was deliberately brought to my room." Cristine's leg bounced up while listing all the type of harassment she had to endure. Even now, people steered clear from her and the looks she received were suspicious.

Her voice was lower now, more controlled, but still seething with ire. "This isn't a good place daddy... not for me. I'm tired of biting my tongue, tired of working my ass off to earn my keep like everyone else and still get shit on for it. You see how everyone looks at me- how your friends look at me." For a moment Cristine wanted to ask her father why he was in this place anyway? It wasn't good for her, he knew this but he still stayed in spite of it all. Walls, weapons, food, safety and all that were plausible reasons. But why wasn't it enough for him that her well-being came first?

She'd wonder about that these past days, even now when she told him everything she had to endure he didn't say much. He rather avoid those topics, tell her to get right with it. Cristine shook her head and leaned back in the chair and mused. "Nothing I say or do will ever make them care." Her father was quiet and seemed to listen to her for once instead of countering her frustrations with naive advice.

Cristine's eyes went glossy with anger and there was tone of finality in her words. "You don't care."

James paled and out of the blue slammed his fist on the table, hard enough to make the wood crack and send a splinter of pain up his arm. The outburst visibly started Cristine and she blinked at her father with wide eyes and gaped at him with disbelief.

James ran his hand through his full white hairs three times in quick succession and fixed his eldest daughter a stare that could have frozen the lake. He snarled more than spoke. "There isn't anything better than this place and you criticism is getting on my nerves! You don't think I get fed up with how things are? I'm trying to fix things Cristine but you're only complicating them."

Her father's gaze was blazing, but the moment he opened his mouth and spat those words, the harsh scent of drink hit her face. He was an expert at hiding the slurring and Cristine would have been fooled by his words if it wasn't for that maddening smell.

"You're drunk." The words were flat and her face was resolutely unimpressed, as if she had been waiting for it to happen. Cristine felt cold, like a bucket of ice cold water was downed on her and she clenched her fists.

This conversation just took a turn for the worse and she wasn't going to sit here and chat back with him anymore.

"Why did you come Cristine? To remind me of the past? To scorn me for moving on after your mother died? You left and didn't look back. Why did you come?" James stretched his hand, wanting to grab his daughter by the hand again only for her to get up.

"I came because I'm your child. I'm sorry I'm not Hailey and I'm so sorry I don't feel safe here, but if you want to drown in self-pity and guilt do you dad." Cristine wanted to say a lot more, but the frightened part of her didn't want to spend any longer than she had in the same room as her intoxicated father. 

Cristine slammed the door of his cabin and leaned against the door. Her breaths were shallow and her minds buzzed. Her slender fingers pressed into the skin of her palms, nails biting in the layer of flesh, drawing beads of blood. Her shoulders shook, inhalation shaking with an anxiety she hadn't felt since younger, but a past that always loomed over her head.

Her heart pounded so hard against her ribcage as her pulse pressed outward, jerking the veins within. Her father was slipping back into that dark place again and it was because of her. Her coming here, her presence wasn't appreciated by her father, not really. That's why he left Sa. Diego in the first place without telling her. That's why he picked up a bottle again after nineteen years.

It was her fault.

"Then that makes leaving a whole lot easier." That thought ran through Cristine's benumbed senses, before she wiped her sweaty brow. She pushed herself from the door and took a single step on the porch and heard the muffled wails in her family's cabin.

Her face twisted and without turning back marched in an unlikely direction of the Ranch. She loved her father as much as she loved herself, but it was clear that he wasn't going to make the choices that she needed. Before the dead she always chose her well-being over that of others and she'd do it two months into the Apocalypse. 

-

It was noon and the sun hung high in the air, glaring over the Ranch. Sweat drops rolled down Cristine's exposed nape. She habitually flexed her fingers before discarding all her reservations the moment she arrived at the largest house on the Ranch; the Otto's.

Rigidly, she lifted her palm to her waist and gave it a squeeze to soothe her volatile nerves. "The worst I can expect are his backhanded comments and flipping it all on me." Cristine inwardly chanted to herself and rhythmically steadies her breathing. Adhering to the restored calmness of her mind, Cristine reopened her eyes, revealing a pair of cool dark brown orbs. Her body escaped from the imaginary pressure from before and she knocked on the less intimidating door that belonged to the big house on the hill.

Inches away, the sound of bolt clicking, and the doorknob turning, Cristine corrected her posture and relaxed her facial muscles. The door swung open.

Cristine's entire mood turned frosty and her pupils dilated. She regretted knocking on the Otto's door already, but leaving now would only be unfavourable. With an indifferent stare, Cristine quickly looked over his shoulder before asking, "is Jeremiah here?"

Troy didn't respond, he downright ignored her question and took the opportunity to lean against the door frame, arm crossed over his chest and brazenly stared at his 'guest'. She wore green cargo pants and a black shirt. Her dense hair, a mixture of ringlets and corkscrews, was pulled back and the ends brushed over the ends of her pulled back shoulders.

The muscles of her face remained taut, her thoughts muddled behind a mask that was hard to decipher. She was trying to protect herself and Troy noted her eyes. It was as if he was looking at an endless stretch of darkness and he couldn't help trying to find the bottom. There was a fierceness inside her eyes that Troy wanted to shatter.

"Good afternoon to you too Cristine." He rolled her name off of his tongue with a peculiar accent that didn't belong to the man's usual tune. He saw her fight to arch her brow, so Troy elaborated, "your name. Did your mother or father give you it? It's written a bit differently than I thought."

"If your father's not here, I'll come back another time." Just like he didn't answer her question, she brushed his nonsensical one off and while still looking at him turned her shoulders away. Cristine didn't hide her disposition of not wanting to be in his presence, let alone engage in menial talk with the militia leader.

He pointed a gun at her twice and badgered her with his men. Now that she shared insights about the infection, he wanted to chatter with her as if they had mutual interests? Not a chance.

Troy pursed his lips to prevent his amusement from showing and drawled out casually, "you know, being alcoholic is a disease too." He saw her pause as she descended the stairs of his porch and seeing he had her attention, a smirk that he himself didn't mind showing, painted his features.

"You should tell James to be more careful where he gets his stash. Such a sad thing if people saw one of our respected Founding Fathers walking around like an uncontrolled drunk, don't you think?" The question was a rhetorical one, but the next sentence made Cristine want to shoot Troy on sight.

"It'd be shame if he ended up hurting himself just because of his addiction." Cristine glanced over her shoulders, narrowed eyes falling upon the son of the man her father coined as his closest friend. A maniac who thought it fun to see her suffer, send her hidden jabs and not so hidden remarks that this wasn't the place for her to settle.

He couldn't stand her presence but he was preventing her from minding her business with base threats. Still, Cristine didn't doubt that he'd keep his promise and that she'd bear witness to her father's drunken accident.

"What do you want?" She asked her voice tense, eyes dangerous and burning with untamed intent.

Troy tilted his head to the side, pleased it only took that to grab her attention. "A peace offering." He shrugged, "maybe even get to know each other since we had a rough start."

An introduction James could've created if he'd taken her with him, for their first meeting to be less of a surprise, hostile and violent. Perhaps just the latter, because they would never form any type of friendship or coexistence. That's not how humans worked and even trying to go against this very regressive fact was unnatural.

"I can make you a good cup of coffee." Troy invited the clearly unwilling woman in the confines of his home and without looking back to see if she followed him, went inside his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was writing this, I realized what a jerk Troy really is. What did you guys think? Leave a comment and vote. Happy to hear your thoughts.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

While Cristine waited for Troy to return from his kitchen, since he actually went out of his way to make her coffee, she snuck a glance around his home.

As the son of one of the main founders of Broke Jaw Ranch, he rightfully enjoyed the benefits of a larger and more modern built home. She could honestly admit, to herself, that it was enviable. Since the beginning of the Apocalypse, these people had it good. The rough grinding of fresh beans in the coffee machine clamored for about a minute.

She reflexively sniffed the air and deeply inhaled the familiar and nearly forlorn scent of roasted beans. The invigorating odor, bridged the gap of past memories of irregular shifts at the laboratory. That was the moment where her need for the caffeinated drink started so that she could function at what was once her dream job.

The sound of cups and utensils, followed by steady footsteps snapped Cristine from her menial reminiscence. Her muscles slowly tightened into a semi-permanent mask of apathetic cautiousness.

From the other side of the table, that was positioned right across the half open kitchen, Troy entered the dining/living room with a plastic tray inside his hands. Today, he wore a simple white shirt with a buttoned up long-sleeved on top. It was a drastic change to his usual camouflaged uniform and the casual clothes would've fooled anyone in mistaking him of being the typical boy next door.

"You wrote down some pretty interesting stuff about the infected." To her, his comment was neither a compliment or something to be proud of. It didn't matter what she wrote down, because it was just based on observations and the chances of a cure were nil.

"You stole my journals."

"I did." Troy admitted and his smile slowly faded. To Cristine's surprise, multiple sticky notes were wedged between the papers, most likely to flip through for later.... Or now. He did exactly that and opened one of her journals at a page where one of the colored bookmark was positioned.

Troy's sturdy body slanted over the table and within his intense eyes, Cristine could see streaks of light curiosity and approval inside them. He didn't have that same spark when he heard she was a doctor, since they had more than enough medics on the Ranch. Skilled medics he trusted to treat his people before even thinking of her.

Cristine didn't want his appraisal, she had no need for it and her own orbs were as steely as they came, face cold and distrusting.

After Troy opened the first page, his eyes switched between looking at her and her writings. "I discovered some things about the dead, things that are in line with yours." His lips twitched, proud to be the one to uncover the same things as her. It gave him more of a grip on where the focus his theories next.

"After poor Cameron, we know the gist of how it works... but somewhere you said that they become weaker over time... how?" Troy tapped his finger on the page he referred to before looking up again, puzzled.

Cristine was silent, parted her lips as if she wanted to respond only to abruptly close her mouth again, much to Troy's frustration.

"You have valuable information here, we have a right- a right to know why we turn, why we spoil!" He scoffed with disdain, "some scientist you are."

Ignoring his tantrum and the taunting words, Cristine asked him a question of her own. "What did you do?"

It was quick, but Troy evaded her gaze and in that short moment his jaw slackened. "I'll tell you if you answer my question; how do they get weaker?"

"You went out to test my theories." Her eyes dropped to her journals and the muscles inside her face went taut. In the revulsion of her judgment, she felt her stomach churn.

"You're the last person to judge me!" Troy spat angrily, not denying her silent accusation and snidely remarked. "For all I know, you invented this thing. It's not a new concept. Thinning out the population because of a lack of resources. Then all of a sudden, there's this mysterious outbreak with a cure that takes weeks to develop. Only this time, you got in over your heads and made a mistake."

Cristine leaned forward and confessed in a low voice, "you know what else? Every night, the dead and I have dinner and discuss the places to raid next. In exchange they won't bite me or eat my organs."

Troy sneered with derision and his eyes were filled with disdain when he spat out the next words and pointed at the windows. "I know what's outside, these things outnumber us 2000 to 1 and they only have one purpose." He paused, eyes drifting along her face. When she said nothing, he continued.

"Humans _were_ responsible for climate change, draining the earth of its resources and nobody did a damn thing... I just know that the rise of the dead is part of evolution."

Cristine furrowed her brow, but his interpretation of the apocalypse wasn't a too far fetched reasoning. She had her theories too, ranging from a bio attack, to the extraterrestrial and good old heavenly damnation.

"You think the world would always end up like this?”

Nothing was sure, set in stone, but after weeks outside even she gave up on finding the answer. It had taken her a while, mostly because she wanted to honor her mentor's wish and be apart of something revolutionary such as finding a cure. So on her journey, Cristine wrote down the symptoms of victims she had come across. How long it took them before succumbing to the fever, needlessly using antibiotics and inspecting bites. Some people more than willing to share the details of their bites, while others sneered at her and most just begged her to end their suffering. Then, she started to study the actual dead, which helped her understand how to survive through them.

"This is Darwinian. It’s the evolution of nature and mankind." Troy admitted.

From one half of the room, tensions were high, but Cristine neither felt enmity or offer the man an olive branch. It just wasn't ever easy with Troy. He always got up in her face, urging her to smack him down, but if she would do that he'd have a reason to act like loose cannon.

So instead Cristine took all the courage she had and used it to suppress her impulses and approached the conversation in a diplomatic way, "fine. After I explain the unclear parts of my notes, you'll return my journals and leave me alone. I don't want to have anything to do with you or whatever you and your men are testing outside of the Ranch. Stop with the harassment at night and stop threatening me."

Seeing that he finally got what he wanted in return for something within his influence, a triumphant smile expanded on the brunette's clean face. He had gotten his way in the end and said. "Awh, and here I was actually looking forward to our bonding mom- I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" His sadistic joke to lighten the mood clearly wasn't appreciated when Cristine moved back in her seat, ready to leave.

It was best to keep this exchange strictly as a business transaction. James his oldest daughter was a tough cookie, hard to please, quick-witted and phlegmatic. Cristine wasn't a bad person per se and very different from Troy's prejudiced thoughts.

She piqued his interest.

There was a chance for her to become an asset to the Ranch. She proved herself with her knowledge of the dead and, aside from himself and the Militia, was someone that dealt with the world as it was now.

The fact that Cristine survived this long alluded to her natural adaptability. It wasn't something a lot of people had, people like him. The only thing he was wary about was her willingness to fight with and for them. He didn't know her and wouldn't trust her with having his back. What he did know was that she wasn't someone to easily get right with the past. Troy scraped his throat and with a wee bit of sincerity said.

"You know, this will really help. It's valuable information, especially since all of this isn't going on for that long. You did the right thing. The Ranch, the founders- everyone here will be grateful for it."

Cristine's expression changed and in the form of an eye roll brushed off Troy's gratitude. "Oh please, don't get all sentimental and righteous, it's give and take. And if it means that giving you this in return for my peace, I'll take it."

"Don't worry, we made a deal. No one will bother you anymore." Troy promised, no ridicule present in his words or demeanor.

He meant it.

Cristine disregarded his goodwill and pointedly nodded at her journal with boring eyes. "Your word doesn't mean anything. When this is finished, I'm done. For good. Get out of your hair and leave all of you be, just like you wanted."

"What?" Alarm and confusion flickered past his eyes. It even seemed as if he was about to protest her decision when she cut him off.

"Phil McCarthy mentioned some abandoned outpost. I volunteered to stay there and keep an eye out for things. Pulling my weight, away from you people. For that, I need my stuff back. Nothing more, nothing less, just my property." Cristine paused whilst her eyes flickered at her journals and noticed how Troy's fisted hand was on top. It was as if he had claimed them as his. "All of it."

Carefully spoken, without drama, her words had an air of finality to them and no matter how hard he railed against them, nothing would change her mind. She even used his words in reference to her from a while ago, that she found her place in the fields, when she and Hailey were picking beans together. The twitch of his right eye and stiff jaw told the story of his growing temper, which she unknowingly relished in.

Cristine acted petty for the simple fact that she could. Similar to how he made her stay on the Ranch unnecessarily difficult, like the sadist that he was. He shot her in the leg, intimidated her when she minded her business, allowed himself and his men to harass her when she slept. Simply because he felt like it, because he could abuse his authority on the Ranch. She was nothing more than a vent for people's frustrations, like bullies.

Troy rolled his lower lip between his teeth, not really tongue tied but more incredulous over the woman's unexpected pettifogging. He leaned forward, away from the back of his chair with his right shoulder angled forward and nudged his head in an overtly serious way that showed his no-nonsense attitude. "Then what? You don't know this land, know the dangers that come with it. This is the safest place you'll ever find."

Cristine paid no attention to the intent behind his words, as she had no emotional connection to the place he grew up in and helped build to what it was now. Without showing a reaction, Cristine leaned closer perfectly composed and uttered just three words, "I. Don't. Care."

Surprisingly, Troy's fuse didn't simmer and he didn't explode with unrestrained fury. He remained as still as a cadaver and just as pallid, unblinking against the clear rejection. Not waiting for a response or feeling the need to argue, Cristine shoved her chair backwards and walked toward the door as if strolling in the fields on a fine day.

It was a mistake of her to show her back to him, just asking to be lunged at. Just as Cristine wrapped her hand around the handle and pulled the door ajar, it slammed back shut from the force of a fist hitting it.

Cristine attempted to turn around but the weight of Troy's taller, stronger and sturdier body pressed against her weaker one. A grunt left her mouth when the side of her face was pushed against the wooden door from his elbow jammed into the nape of her neck.

Her chest tightened from a mixture of panic and slow suffocation as the space for air inside her lungs slowly lessened. The distance between her arms and the door wasn't big enough to move them into a position to use as leverage. It was as if she pushed up a lead weight and her breaths became labored.

With the pressure weighing down on the back of her neck, Cristine felt Troy's steady breath pause near the back of her ear.

"After crossing half the state to find your family, you just abandon them? Betray them just like that, huh?" There was a dangerous edge to his words that turned lower and slower after each unanswered question.

"This place is built on loyalty and having each other's back. The Ranch doesn't need people who go against all of that." Cristine tensed at the threatening words and felt spots at the corner of her eye. He'd overpower her with nothing but his body weight and posture.

Troy sneered in her ear, "it's my job to make sure this place is safe from rats that think they can crawl in and out and not expect to be exterminated." The promise was so palpable in his voice that it sent a chill down her spine.

"Shh-shhh!" Troy's raw, amused voice rested brutally against her ear. She struggled against him, shooting her right leg out but the movement was far too weak. Cristine grit her teeth, struggling as much as she could before she threw her head back and hit his face.

She knocked him off balance and he stumbled back a few steps but firmly squeezed her arm. A thin stream of blood flowed from a nostril onto the middle of his upper lip. In that frozen second, she saw Troy's eyes flash with extreme force. His face was delighted, no fear or surprise, only an invitational smirk.

He was enjoying this and taunting her.

This was the breaking point of Cristine her patience. At the moment she was filled by a two-course serving of rage that tasted biter, yet surprisingly satisfying. With her free hand she reached out for her hip, drew out a knife and brandished it. The grip around her arm abated the moment she did a downward swipe of her hand and stabbed the air.

"I'll kill you." Cristine promised, twisting her knife around as if she practiced how she could slice him up, her expression exaggerated by the dark shadows around her eyes.

Troy bared his teeth, his smile mercurial. There was something profound about riling a person up. Especially one that wasn't so easily flustered or provoked. It gave him the front row seat to watch, learn and understand why she was the way she was.

He really liked their back and forth game. It was almost like a complicated dance. Often it was clandestine; like memorizing the basic steps, until they had to actually perform it in the open. But their little undisguised altercations always reached their climax when the pretenses were dropped.

"You know, I really like these little bonding moments of ours. It helps keep the mind and body sharp." Troy admitted, not in the least worried by her threat and wiped the blood from his nose and sniffed.

Cristine wanted to strangle him.

Cristine slid her boot over the wooden floor as the tip of the blade was still brandished in his direction. She had to be resourceful and unpredictable in her attack. He was taller than her, heavier, and she didn't want to admit, stronger than her. The cabin space was large and familiar for Troy to maneuver in.

Troy's head tilted as he amusedly stared into her deep, endless black eyes, a calculating streak rooted inside them. "Come on." He urged almost impatiently and her narrowed gaze quickly darted into his. "You have to be quicker than that!"

Troy barely finished his sentence before he closed the distance with two fierce steps. He shot his arm out and locked her left wrist, anchoring the equipped hand with the cold tip that was dangerously close to the left side of his face. She grunted beneath him when her back clobbered against the front door.

After he locked a leg between hers, Troy repeatedly banged her left hand against the door so that she released the knife. After the fourth bang, a red trail scraped onto the wood and it was only after the sixth or seventh hit that Cristine groaned painfully and uncurled her fingers around the hilt. The knife dropped to the floor with a clatter.

Cristine pathetically tried to lash out by scratching him, wincing once more when his nails dug into the back of her wounded hand. He held her down so she could not fight back anymore and smiled mockingly at her heated glare through her rugged pants, trying to catch her breath.

"I tried to be nice, but it seems that my gratitude and mercy is something you don't seem to appreciate. That's fine though, people don't change." He explained with a light smile while his voice got filled with hopeless resignation. "It's not stupidity or weakness, that's just human nature."

"Get off of me!" Cristine yelled.

"No, no, no, no." Troy interjected with a shake of the head, his mood turning dour and the amiable air gone. His response resembled a disciplinarian that was disappointed time and time again by that one person that didn't heed his wise words. As if everything he did was wasted on her.

Cristine gasped in surprise when his calloused palm firmly slipped behind her nape and long fingers loosely wrapped around her neck. In a reflexive panic she dug her nails into the fabric of his sleeve and the lax choke-holding hand.

"I thought you'd figure out how things worked here by now." Troy absently brushed a stray lock from the curve of her jaw with his thumb and explained. "You enduring and making it work for yourself, despite all you get for being... you."

Cristine barely seemed to blink during his nonsensical analysis and breathed low when the haughty smile on his mouth returned. This was a game to him, a dangerous one for her, and she could only listen and watch. There were so many ways this could end. Crack her skull into the door, break her neck, choke her. Or just do both at the same time.

This feeling of helplessness and not being the one in control annoyed Cristine more so than it terrified her. Being scared made one do stupid things and that's what Troy wanted her to do. Cristine wasn't stupid, she now realized that Troy liked playing these games with her; and he knew she knew that. Only this time, she had something that piqued his curiosity, something he desperately wanted and she gravely underestimated his motivation to have it. Something Cristine could finally use to her advantage. Her tense jaw rotated, the animosity apparent but half layered by her composure.

"You never struck me as the rash type, persevering, but not rash. Don't make this any harder than it has to be." His lips parted in wonder when the woman's fierce glare faltered and felt her muscles unclench. "There you go. I knew we'd come to an understanding."

The woman under his mercy slowly retracted her nails from his flesh and a few seconds later Troy returned the favor by gradually pulling his hands from her throat and nape. Her neck muscles were drumbeat tight and it barely undulated from her shallow breathing, as if she didn't dare to.

"Hey, hey, hey, take it easy." Troy assured her in a gentle voice and with his hands up took a step backwards, still half in her personal space. "Like you said, this is an exchange. I will take care of you, I promise, but in return you have to give me that same goodwill." He finished in a pressing voice with a sideward tilt of his head, "I need to be able to trust you."

It was faint, but Cristine eventually nodded her head and made eye contact with him to show that she agreed, even if it was clearly half-hearted and under force. "I understand."

-

Cristine's mood was even worse after leaving the Otto's big house. Not only had she not discussed what she came for in the first place. Instead, she was choked, intimidated, her hand hurt like hell and she had to do the youngest Otto's bidding until he was satisfied. Until he didn't have to use her family's well being as leverage.

All of this excluded the cold feelings she already carried with her of her very drunk father.

She slammed the door of her cabin and went to tend to her scraped open hand. She wrapped the cotton roll of sterile tape around her left hand and winced when flexing it open and close. Thinking of Troy's smug attitude with her made her despise him even more than before.

He had her journals, her knife and the life of her and her father under his thumb, until he was satisfied with whatever she could bring to the table. He just wanted to bump heads with her, push her buttons until she did something he could then forcefully smother down like a tyrant.

He had not only left her defenseless in a sense, but also on her toes in this hellhole that was supposed to be a safe haven . Thinking of her father again, Cristine pinched the bridge of her nose hard out of of anger, frustration and sadness crashed through her as she stared at nothing in particular.

Long, silent minutes passed by and Cristine looked down at her wrapped left hand. Thoughts of crazed, cold eyes that were very much alive. She'd seen them too often to not get used to them. Shifting on her bed, Cristine mused ar how everything just collapsed within such a short space of time, but now she'd seen just how fragile and weak the world really was. Society was just one big ant's nest, built on weak foundations, waiting for somebody to stuff their foot inside and kick it into oblivion. Only difference now was humans had a weaker bite.

Some of them.

Thinking, Cristine's face turned colder before she walked up to the chair where she put her knapsack in. Aside from her weapons, most of the items without value were given back to her. That included her journals, which the militia leader so conveniently stole from her in the name of 'science' and the 'greater good'

Still, she lined her good hand through the bag and the light downward tilted of her mouth and brows eased when she felt the outline of the small and flat object in one of the hidden sections. Cristine thoughtlessly ripped the stitched pocket open and peeked inside before she fished out a flash drive.

Staring at the device for a while, the young woman tapped on the side of her leg before she squeezed the stick in her palm. She had made her decision. Cristine would exploit and stretch her knowledge of the dead to the max, before watching this Ranch crash and burn by itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, a pretty volatile chapter. Criticism and feedback is welcome.


	15. - Troy -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

Troy’s writing had become unreadable from the many formulas he tried to concoct. A lot had changed in the first 72 hours. He read the ‘borrowed’ journals from start to end and back. The data set in his grasp, ranged from formulas, the process of how it spread; similar to meningitis. The symptoms of the turned that spread from person to person similar to rabies.

Troy underlined the copied paragraph from Cristine’s a few times, her own theory of what might have happened and why it spread the way it did.

This could have been a dormant virus that was acquired through a vaccine from patient zero. The virus was then activated by an airborne trigger. That is one explanation why some people survived the initial outbreak; we never got the vaccine, but we carry the inactive virus from when the secondary contamination occurred.

Cristine’s theory was that the virus was man made, through a vaccine, which was plausible. Diseases were known to be weaponized by countries since historical times. And while he didn’t have any hard proof, Troy also believed that this was part of an evolutionary revolt done by mother nature.

A big screw you to them all.

Troy flipped the page over and browsed at his half finished and awry formula.

(BMI)*(Age/Health) = time of revival 

From everything he gathered, Troy made the connection that the reanimation time, with the time of death as a starting point, depended on one’s body mass index, age, and health. 

He didn’t have an exact measure other than this wonky formula, but Troy theorized that the healthier someone was, the faster they turned. The virus was dormant in their brains, so how developed one’s brain structure definitely played part in the turning process too.

But how to deal with the sick people? The ones like Cameron, who suffered from a disorder that attacked his weak auto immune system or people with addictions like alcohol or drugs? What about people with stress or trauma’s.. did that affect the brain as well? What health factor should people like that be given?

How long would it take for him to turn?

Troy filled in the formula with his information and the number that formed from the equation burned in his retina.

87 minutes.

Tapping the end of his pen on the paper, Troy rubbed the bridge of his scrunched up nose. He didn’t know how long he was up, but the lights in his room stung his eyes.

His equation was too much of a black box to be sure of calculating anything at this stage correctly. There were a handful of cases in Cristine’s journal that did mention the time it took people to revive, but that was explicitly when one was bitten. A bite had to have different variables too. Unfortunately, Cristine hadn’t written out a formula for the process of a bite or how long it could take for the fever to spread. There were a few scribbles of fever temperatures and how to alleviate the pains and such to slow down the process.

If she believed some man made vaccine was the cause, he expected her to at least expand about it in her notes. Troy wished he could be at the military base again. That would help with the organization of the research. Last time, they only did tests on the dead, not actual subjects that weren’t turned.

The same could be said about her lack of data of the time it took for someone to turn. He wasn’t talking about a bite. He thought of the average Joe, old and young, male and female, boy or girl, the healthy and unhealthy, the age range, specific races and even those with the exceptions to the rule.

Signing, Troy dropped his writing utensil on his journal, leaned into the back of his chair and let the outline of it dig into his shoulder blades. It was a massage to the stiffness of having to stay in the exact position for a duration the time.

He needed more data and clarifications why something was the way it was. That way he could formulate his calculation with more certainty. It would take a while before thd next fuel run would be possible, so Troy had to be creative in the meantime.

More regular patrols outside to see what potential subjects they could find.

Troy was more than determined to figure out why they spoiled. Wanting to learn how long it took for the virus to become active, infecting their brain, and turning them into a literal shell of their former selves.

He just needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think? I could keep going on and on about this subject, but I don’t want to make it too long. Hopefully Troy’s portrayal with his favorite obsession is on the right track.
> 
> A short chapter, so expect the next one to be up very soon.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

Long chapter, hope you guys enjoy <3

Tilting his brows with both suspicion and curiosity, Troy watched James his eldest daughter calmly converse with his father and Jake. After the whole debacle with the sick Cameron, people were worried and looked to their family for guidance, especially to big Otto, who owned the place.

The only one not currently present was the woman's father, still recovering from his hangover, Troy inwardly mused. He had to shake his head at the thought of old men who could not hold their liquor and allow themselves to loose control of themselves.

The straightforward and honest answer of the curly haired, young woman sounded across the room. "I can only explain how the infection spreads after a bite. No one knows where it came from... as far as I know the last hope is the CDC in Washington, if they haven't fallen yet."

Leaning against the wall with on foot up, his gaze locked onto the girl as he studied her. "So what you're saying is that a cure is close to zero at this point." Troy more so stated than asked to satiate his own morbid curiosity.

She briefly looked at him, dismayed, before addressing his father and Jake. "Like I said, I can only share what my mentor did and government procedures would be in case of a pandemic." Retelling the story out loud made Cristine realize that she knew nothing at all. Every passing day just a reconfirming that this was the new world now. But she'd go through with this bluff as her safety depended on it.

Jeremiah brought his hands together on his wooden desk and calmly commented, "after Cameron, people are afraid and angry. We need to calm them down instead of making them walk on their toes."

Cristine flattened her lips to suppress a scowl erupting. As if this old cowboy was still mildly blaming her for the things that happened. Would it be too much to ask to be consistency in his decisions?

"I agree." She mocked, "that's why I'm sharing all this."

"What my father means Cristine," the oldest Otto son, Jake, stepped in the conversation. He was more amiable than all these people here and Cristine saw him purposely take a more relaxed posture. "Is that we definitely believe you, but it's created skepticism with the some of the people here and they've come up with crazy conspiracy theories."

Cristine didn't know whether to laugh, cry, scoff or do all at once. She looked at Jake then zeroed her gaze in on the man in charge and shook her head. "If people want me to leave, I can. I hear one of your outposts isn't occupied." Her tone was clipped and decisive and met the wary stare of Jeremiah head on, addressing him as the one making these decisions. "All I ask is for my stuff and I'll be on my way."

"You'd leave your family behind?" A frown settled between the elderly man, a silent judgment to her certain and clear acceptance of the undecided decision. He'd admit, she was sharp and saw reason fairly quick. "James wouldn't be hap-"

"That's between me and my father. I only knew about this place because of letters between you and him. It was a gamble and I don't usually gamble. Look where that brought me now." For her father and sister, she gambled and it was still hell. Cristine smiled – well, as close to one as she could manage to fake.

"I want to show you one last thing, since you have electricity and all. Maybe it'll help your people understand and see the light. It's pretty much useless at this point." Cristine glanced at Jake and the brunette clearly wanted to protest in her stead, but ultimately didn't because of her steadfastness.

"I'll get the TV."

Even Troy was a bit alarmed to see the interaction between his brother and James's daughter. He'd emptied her rug sack for any evidence about this disease and compared his notes with hers. Did she actually have footage of the process?! He clenched and unclenched his hand and locked his eyes on the side profile of the calm and collected woman.

He was both angry and excited. Angry to have been left out of the loop, angry for her even daring to suggest she'd still leave, despite their deal yesterday, and excitement to be one of the few to see something extraordinary. Troy thought himself smart enough to figure stuff out about the dead, but the knowledge and opinion of a disease expert would strengthen his theories.

He had to convince his father to let her stay, at least until they exploited everything there was to know. They didn't know a whole lot about the infection or the dead. But she'd casually reveal that everyone in the world was infected. That it could even be hereditary. Barely a month in the new world and they had knowledge so close to them when no one did. It was a sign for him to uncover it all.

It was for the good of the Ranch and his people.

Cristine stood next to the portable TV screen on wheels in front of the Otto family. While Jake was busy plugging in the electric cord into the socket, Cristine rolled the drive in her palm. Troy was secretly seething and glowered at the woman with a hard to detect annoyance. He impatiently tapped his fingers on his crossed upper arms before darting his clear eyes on his father's. Big Otto wasn't too impressed, as if this was a waste of their time.

"She should've let me handle it instead of Jake." While his thoughts might be childish, Troy knew his father best. He'd already made his decision regarding Cristine and her little stunt with Cameron only enforced his judgement.

First of, she didn't think of sharing the information with the Ranch. The fact that she had close ties with the unnatural disease and even footage was a breach in trust and loyalty.

Two of the most important things that kept them safe and this place running.

It didn't seem to matter to both Otto men, that in order for Cristine to put an inkling of trust in them was to give her a reason to. Her prejudiced and unfair treatment the moment she was found in the dessert were still fresh. The scorns, jeers, taunts and harassments. All of it was now completely forgotten by Jeremiah and Troy and it showed in their callous reasoning.

"Cristine showed me this yesterday... it's a more visual way to understand her explanation. It's pretty intense if I say so myself." Jake's tune was a breath of fresh air inside the tense room.

Cristine didn't add anything to Jake's words and just began to play the recording.

Once it switched on, Troy's eyes were plastered on the screen and barely blinked, as if afraid he'd miss something important. The film started off as shaky until it stilled and the shot shifted in and out of focus until the virtual image of a human brain was seen on the main screen.

"Is that a brain?" Jeremiah asked with a meager frown and briefly looked at the young woman for confirmation.

"Yes. from a person that was bitten. My tutor received this footage through one of his friends. Classified information, hence the quality." Cristine explained, refocusing back onto the screen as Jeremiah glanced at his oldest son Jake.

"So you experimented on people?" Troy peered at the screen, face resolutely impressed by the imagery. The tone in his voice was filled with curiosity, but Cristine could not help but sense the calculative innuendo of his question.

"Maybe they did. Us, no." Cristine pulled up her shoulders, "anyway, this is the record of an infection process. At this point the person is still alive." Sparks of light flickered through the shaky image as it enhanced and sifted deeper into the brain.

Troy watched with a ghost of a smile as they came to the synapses of the brain, having read the woman's notes. He understood the part where she scribbled down the process of one turning, in spite of all the scientific terms. She just fancily described how someone died and came back after a bite... Troy wondered if the process was the same with a person not bitten.

"This is the playback of the person's vigil." She said, looking away from the screen for a moment to absently fumble with the remote control.

The time on the screen sped up for a moment before slowing back down and then the lights of that same brain showed threads of darkness creeping in. "What is that?" The youngest Otto asked, a frown on his face. He inclined his head to the side; never having seen something like it before.

"The virus, like I said before, invades the brain like meningitis. It's the first thing that shuts down, before all the major organs." Cristine explained, all of them watching as the blackness engulfed the brain on the screen.

Troy inched forward from his seat and rested his forearms on his knees. The keen, explorer in him was thrilled to finally be learning how the infection spread throughout the body, though it was still unclear why it took this form or how it exactly came to be.

Why did they spoil?

"Then death." Cristine finished, her voice, tired and defeated. A brief silence fell over the group. "The second event is the resurrection." She peered at the screen and sat against the edge of the desk.

"The time varies per person. The longest I personally witnessed was five hours, but you have others that can turn in just ten. " Red flecks of light began flickering through the dead brain, originating from the brain stem.

"It restarts the brain." Troy stated, but bit his lip and shook his head and looked at her, "what do those lights mean?"

"Signals. They're connected to the brainstem. The bodily function that get a person up and moving. But the rest is dead, the human part doesn't come back, it's just a husk." Cristine finished, her gaze plastered on the swift object that tore through the patient's brain, stilling any movement from the subject in an instant.

"So shooting them through the head is the only solution." Jeremiah rubbed the top of his bald head. The transformation itself, he he had seen with his sons on a few occasion, it hit home, as he couldn't imagine himself or his loved ones suffer through the same thing.

"Is this CDC still up and running?" Jeremiah asked.

Cristine shrugged, "maybe... I think we can only hope the power doesn't run out if they're still busy finding a cure. And if they don't then that's it."

Jake frowned, "you don't sound sure."

"Because I'm not. The only one who knew what we had to research was my mentor. I found this on him after he died and I don't know what happened after." She explained, her eyes meeting the surprised ones of Jake.

"You were talking about other countries... is this a pandemic? Is that what you're saying?" Jake asked her, his eyes basically pleading with Cristine to tell her that it wasn't true, but when she remained silent, he felt the impact. If they'd share this with the rest of the community... the reality of this all would hit them hard, and they'd just have to accept the bitter truth and grim new world they were faced with. Broke Jaw Ranch had prepared for the end of the world, but not... not this. Not the dead rising and certainly not with absolutely no hope out of this new hell.

"We need to discuss how we'll share this with the people. Make plans how we'll strengthen the Ranch and set in place new policies." Jeremiah said and looked at his sons with a pointed look.

When his father said that, Jake brought himself out of his own musings and clenched and unclenched his fist before thanking Cristine for her time and sharing this with them.

 

-

Cristine sat on the low stairs of her cabin and looked in the distance of Ranch property. It was one of those baby-blue skies days, not the washed out grey so characteristic of rainy mornings. The clouds were puffs of radiant joy, ready to disperse into the wind, to travel the earth. She watched the children run and play around, the grownups conversing freely and everyone without any worries. On one hand, it was strange to see these people having nothing to worry about.

On the other hand, this safety made people forgetful of the outside world. Complacent in their safety and completely dependent. Indeed, they were wary of outsiders, as they should, but they chose based on faulty criteria. It was how she'd almost gotten killed.

After her short break, Cristine rubbed the back of her neck and got up. The good thing about the Ranch was that she could learn every trick in the book there was about sustainable life. Cristine walked to the crops fields with purpose.

Unexpectedly, she bumped into Jake on her way there. The older man was dressed in an attire that looked like he was also on field duty for today. He spotted her and with a wave ushered her closer.

"How're you feeling?" A curious question, one that was a bit surprising given that she delivered him and his family classified footage. It was her last big reveal to this place and Cristine had played open all her cards. What happened after this, was out of her influence, but she'd hope that people would steer their focus on reinforcing the walls and training people. Busy people were much better than the ones that had too much free time to waste on her.

"I should be the one asking you that." She followed Jake to the cabbage field where the two spend their time to harvest and plant. Jake did the planting and Cristine the harvesting. It was a leisurely task, a warm one, but Cristine loved the distraction and clearly Jake did too.

"Overwhelmed, but otherwise alright." Jake's answer was thoughtful, but Cristine didn't bother pressing on what they thought best to do. The first thing the Otto family had to do was add clear cut policies of how they would deal with everything now. The basics were set in place, but just having the militia on runs and patrolling wasn't enough.

The land was big, and the people that inhabited it were between the fifty and seventy tops. More than half of that number never set foot outside ever since they arrived. They didn't know how to fight or redirect the dead, have emergency plans in case they needed to run or plans for other groups... well Troy obviously did, but just him and the current militia wouldn't be enough.

"Will you show your people what I just showed you and your family?" Cristine asked, curious if having them actually see something up close would alter the way they operate.

"My father doesn't think it's a good idea." Jake shook his head with a sigh before continuing, "I agree with him. We know now, thanks to you, but we shouldn't dwindle on it. Moving forward is what matters and to do that we need organized rules and more people on watch."

Cristine nodded in understanding, before she emptied the first batch of cabbages and separated the others for food for the cattle. She thought of her altercation with Troy yesterday and her mood just automatically soured.

Today, he was suspiciously decent when she shared her presentation. And while the daggers in his eyes were palpable on her skin when she discussed her departure to that outpost with Jeremiah, he was oddly docile. In the end, his father called the shots and he was just one of his responsible for the militia. Who could stay and leave wasn't part of his responsibilities. Even if it looked like that at times with his overbearing personality.

Cristine forced herself to think about something else, it only made her more annoyed that her thoughts wandered to that entitled and unreasonable man child. Focusing on her conversation with Jake once more, she nodded at their idea to put steady rules in place.

"That's smart. But you also need to strengthen your fences, have a back up plan in case it goes wrong... and it will. Somehow, someway, it'll just end up in chaos. And people need to be ready for that."

She saw Jake smile out of the blue, much to her confusion and Cristine arched a brow. "What's so funny?"

"Our community and people are Survivalists, we've always managed. We're mostly self-sustaining and-"

"I'm not talking about that." Cristine interjected with a faint shake of the head and her mouth frowned. "I'm talking about what you'll do when a horde finds this place and attacks. You can't just bulldoze that down with bullets. Best case is to redirect them or prevent them from ever finding the Ranch in the first place. You can also use the dead for that. I'm talking about outposts, plans from A to Z that cover the worst case scenarios, emergency plans, so that everyone knows their responsibility here too. The farmers won't be the ones that will save this place, the fighters will." And they had more farmers than fighters at this point.

"Most people here can't fight or do what the militia does, they're scared-"

"We're all scared." Cristine interjected strongly and paused to look at the eldest. She wanted him to understand the implications of everything they didn't think of before. "Scared people do selfish, stupid and horrible things."

Jake also stopped working, but his gaze remained on the patch of ground. Cristine had a fair point, but Jake didn't want their home to become a place where they just survived and use that as an excuse to do what they did to Cristine and worse. His home had always been a violent place; both inside on the land and outside near the borders. Why keep that cycle from going needlessly?

"I want this place to be more than that."

"Well, most here don't seem to agree."

"Is that why you volunteered to go to the outpost McCarthy talked about?" Jake had heard that Cristine was also interested in manning the outpost, to keep an eye out. He just couldn't help but feel there was more involved than simply doing her part. She'd done that and then some. Her family was here too, so it didn't make any sense for her to not want to be with them.

Cristine looked at the green again, clenched and unclenched her bandaged hand and shrugged. That altercation with Troy and his threat fresh in her mind. Unlike his brother Jake, the armed leader would definitely stay true to his word. But, she didn't believe he would go far to kill her father or Hailey. He saw them as their own and if he had to choose between her and them, the choice was easily made.

"I just want to earn my keep."

"You already did."

Cristine shook her head with an ironic chuckle, not sure if Jake was that naive or clueless as to what happened in his own home. Clearly, Jeremiah and Troy and the majority ignored it, but Jake just sounded gullible. Very much like her father.

"It doesn't really feel like it."

"Is Troy still bothering you?" The question came out of the blue and Cristine dumped a few more of the cabbages in the basket. The question left a bad taste inside her mouth, but she swallowed it down and answered as genuinely as she could.

"He's just interested in the dead and how we can use that to our advantage, but other than that it's fine."

Jake wasn't sure if Cristine told him the truth or not, but the main reason he asked was because of her sudden visit with laboratory footage. She had all this information with her since the start and just now shared it with them, after almost a month here. She was clearly calculating her chances to make an impact and finding the right moments to do certain things.

It was shady, but understandable given her overall treatment. And usually, that connection somehow always traced back to his little brother. One of Jake his responsibilities was to keep the people here safe and sane, and Troy from slipping and under his control. The Ranch wasn't perfect, they had much to learn, but they'd get there. That included Cristine and helping her find her place on the Ranch.

"I told him to stay away. It doesn't matter if it's about the dead. We know how it works now and the next priority is the Ranch. He has no business with you anymore."

"Well, the two are connected in a sense. Some of the information will help the Ranch and I don't mind." Cristine almost bit on her tongue saying that.

A sigh.

"I'll make sure he stays away."

Cristine's was curious though and the way Jake talked about it, this had been an ongoing issue, even before the end of the world. "Has he always been like this?"

".... Ever since he was a kid. He's been given his run on the Ranch, way before the world got like this. Troy's mother and our dad pulled him out of school and homeschooled him. I've kept it under control so he wont-" Jake paused and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "You make allowances for the ones you love."

Cristine thought of her father and of those same allowances she made for her father mostly. Of his drunken outburst and the hateful words spat at her. "I thought so too, but then I realized that they won't change or get better, not even for you."

"But they're family."

"They're family."

The two mused simultaneously, much to the other's surprise. Then, Jake shook his head with a grimacing smile, whilst Cristine chuckled at the irony of it all. The insane lengths one would go just for family and the excuses that came along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Just more information dump and a bit more about Cristine's previous field of work and a little moment with Jake the softie and dreamer XD. I like Jake and he can survive, but he's too naive and hopeful for his own good. We're too early to be in that stage yet. Wars and deaths need to happen before civilization can even rebuild. And that's already a stretch in my opinion. Credit goes to TWD of course since the dialogue and information is taken from the show


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

From the porch of the big house, Troy casually leaned against the wooden railing, his forearms resting on the support as his hands were busy peeling the orange. Blue irises locked on Jake and Cristine farming in the cabbage field down below. 

After the insightful meeting with Cristine, Troy, his father and Jake discussed the next logical steps for the Ranch. His father introduced stricter policies for who they could take in or not. New people were to be processed first; answer questions about where they came from, who with, why and where they went to. It was up to the Otto's who became a member of their thriving community and for whom it was better to seek help elsewhere. 

Troy was responsible for the safety inside and out and under Jeremiah's orders the one to collect the willing volunteers. He was glad his father saw the need and necessity to expand their militia, but he was less happy that big Otto didn't want to use the footage handed to them on a silver platter. What more motivation did people need? His militia had grown, but it wasn't enough for Troy. They needed more people to defend this large piece of land and then some. 

If people were able to see what happened to their loved ones, bitten or not, they'd understand. Some more than others, but his father didn't think it important because he felt they had to move on from this. They knew the what and the how and that was enough. His father and Jake would speak to their people during the emergency assembly. 

Troy's eyes shifted to the woman in question, the so all-knowing scientist, and couldn't help but smirk. She played all her cards now, after four weeks or so. It wasn't noticeable to him until now, but she had a cunning streak. All this information just in the palms of her hand and the crevices of her mind, and it was just now that she shared it? 

Now, the Otto's and the Survivalists would be too busy rebuilding and strengthening everything from their fences to their pantry and security. Too busy to be bothered by her presence on the Ranch anymore. Too busy, to keep an eye out for what else she had under her sleeve. 

Troy scratched the faint hairs on his chin and felt oddly pleased that Cristine had come up with this so quickly after she healed, after their altercations, after her drunk father and after her treatment here. Heck, even Jake was working together with her now, as if she had been with them from the very start. And it wasn't just Jake, according to gossip, the sheep were slowly starting to accept Cristine Gerrard. 

Troy underestimated her quick thinking and he wondered if she truly finished her game with this final chess piece. 

His gaze narrowed when he saw Jake and Cristine briefly smile at each other. 

"I'm nowhere near not done playing." 

If Cristine just came to him first, showed him the footage first, and discussed this with him first... Troy wouldn't feel this irritated. She threw their deal right through the window. Went behind his back to Jake and pulled this stunt. And now she thought she could leave to an outpost and enjoy the benefits of the Ranch its resources? 

No. 

She broke their promise first, so what he would do from now on was all on her. It was time to hold his end of the bargain, her accountable and make progress with the dead. 

She owed him that much. 

 

\- 

Cristine almost had a heart attack when she saw Hailey sitting inside her cabin. Her little sister's habit of barging in her spaces hadn't changed over the years. 

"Hailey, you can't just break in and enter. I carry a gun y'know." Cristine scolded her sibling as she walked inside and grabbed a fresh set of clothes from her drawers. She hadn't seen the fresh oranges and apples her sister brought with her yet. 

"Glad to see you too sis. It's been like forever." Two pretty blue gems followed her sister with light wonder. 

"We just saw each other at breakfast." 

"Why were you up at the Big House?" 

And there it was. Small talk barely started and Cristine shared a blank look with her sister. Hailey's head bobbed from side to side, urging her to answer the question. 

"To talk about potentially manning an outpost and keep and eye out." Cristine was a great liar when she needed to be, so she wasn't worried about Hailey detecting it. She just had to make sure to keep most of the details to herself. 

"What for?" 

"Daddy and Troy." Cristine thought. 

"I want to help." She answered instead. 

"Okay... But why do you care?" Of course Hailey wasn't going to let this go. Not from the way her eyes pierced through hers like some sharpened daggers. Her sister had a keen sense for sniffing out bullshit. Something they, fortunately and unfortunately had in common. 

Cristine buttoned up her blouse over her spaghetti shirt. "Because it's a mess and there aren't enough people that can." 

"You don't have to prove anything to anyone. You already did more than most here. They really don't deserve all this effort from you." Hailey grumbled the last part and played with the end of her golden locks. 

"Did something happen?" Cristine asked carefully, Hailey always toyed with her hair when nervous or preoccupied by something. 

Glad that little habit didn't change. 

"Is it daddy?" Cristine asked, trying to keep her voice even. She hadn't spoken to her father ever since his drunk outburst and Cristine purposely steered clear from him. She just didn't hope it was her father, because Hailey didn't deserve to see him like that. 

In his most vile moments. 

"Nah," Hailey bit her lip and combed her fingers through her hair in frustration. 

Cristine relaxed a bit and asked gently, "is it Dolores?" 

"What? No, it's not mom. I, uh, some guy asked me to hang out." 

"..." 

"..." 

"..." 

"This is the moment you ask me who the scumbag is and throw a tantrum." 

Cristine blinked, sucked in her cheeks and parted her lips, her voice monotone, "no way, whose the scumbag?" 

Hailey gritted her teeth, "that was weak. I give it a two out of ten." 

"..." 

"Fine, it was Willy." 

There was a gagging noise when the news was shared and Cristine's face scrunched up with pure disdain. Said ruddy blonde came to a close first after Troy in his racist, sexist and scumbag ways. If she had to believe her guts, he was the one that most likely put that infected inside her house. 

"From your reaction, you declined." 

"Of course I did!! He and Jimmy were the ones that freaking put that dead-alive in your cabin. The nerve of that prick to even gather his so called courage to walk up to me and ask me to 'hang out'!!" The air quotes marks behind those last two words left a bad taste in both the sisters mouths. 

Hailey complaining over the menial things, things that were normal not even a month a half ago and it briefly brought back a sense of nostalgia of back in the day. The days, where they worried about the normal things like boys, school, work, relationships both romantic, familial or of companionship. Even the complicated ones were missed. 

"If you like someone, you should go for it." Cristine shrugged before walking up to the table and her eyes lit up from the basket of fresh fruits. Fishing out an apple, Cristine took a bite from the shell and savored its freshness. 

"You don't have to give up on everything, just be careful and do it safe. There are more than enough contraceptives in the pantry." Cristine was very amused by Hailey's facial contortion and stifled a laugh. Clearly, her sister didn't think it funny and with a face that got redder and redder, began to rebuke the safe sex talk. 

"What? Ew. No. No. No. There is literally no one that gets me hot and bothered around here. No one. So, let's just skip this talk and talk about you staying here instead of volunteering to go to some dumb outpost." 

"I'm serious, accidents happen and you need to be safe than sorry. Even more so now. Remember when I thought it was code red? Luckily it was false alarm and ever since, I didn't take any chances." 

Hailey chuckled, "I never saw you panic that much. His name was Adam, right?" 

Cristine nodded, "my first sweetheart." 

"Your only sweetheart." Hailey interjected and cocked her head, a thoughtful expression crossed her face. "How long were you two together again? Ten years?" 

Cristine rolled her eyes, she didn't miss these side remarks but smiled while shaking her head. "Three years-almost four. We broke up six months before this." 

"Why?" Ever since their strained communication and awkward calls that got less and less, Hailey realized, that she didn't know a whole lot of her sister's life after she moved. Sure, they talked through video call, but there was always tension in the air. No time to really talk about the simple things in life only the issues. 

A brief emotion flashed beneath the surface of her relaxed expression and Hailey tried to analyze the hurtful shift. It was too late and the somber emotion disappeared before she could identify it. Her sister was a master of keeping everything bottled up and also striking you with words where it hurt the most. 

"He said I love you," Cristine muttered and looked at the half eaten apple in her hand. Under that so called strong and no nonsense personality was a woman more vulnerable than she let on, but much to Hailey's expectations, the fragile mood didn't surround her sister too long. 

She just pushed it down or brushed it aside as if it was an inconvenience. 

"And you didn't." Hailey titled her head after she finished her sister's sentence and just to be certain asked, "did you?" 

"No." Cristine shook her head, thoughts racing through her head while her brows pull together. Her lips parted and she was in the verge to either elaborate or just brush it off because it was business of the old world. 

A world that world never return. 

But midway through, Cristine pressed her lips together and took a big chunk from her apple, a clear sign she didn't want to talk about it. 

"Life always sucked, no use talking about things of before. The lesson learned from this is to think thrice over possible consequences of your actions now." 

"You love giving these life lessons, don't you?" 

"You're my baby sister. It's my job to cover my ass in case of your unavoidable screw up. If you don't listen, I can't be blamed for not warning you." A cheeky smile, with a cheeky answer. 

"You're such a loser sometimes, you know that right?" 

"Love you too Hailey." 

 

\- 

\- Jake -

 

Sometimes when Jake looked at his little brother, he still saw a little kid. Curly brown hair, big blue eyes, looking at him as their father and stepmother got into an argument again. Jake had been young himself that he didn't know how to protect Troy, couldn't even protect himself, and to this day Jake felt guilty about that. 

Maybe if he was on the Ranch instead of school like his younger brother, then maybe he'd been able to protect Troy from their parents, their father and protect him from himself and what he turned into. 

Maybe if he didn't run off to college and leave Troy by himself with their drunk father and his drunk mother, maybe Troy wouldn't have to worry about him as much as now. Try to tone down his irate actions and complete disregard to leave the people alone, who didn't want to be near him. 

Maybe if he stayed, he could've understood what it was that his younger brother struggled with. Why he did what he did and have a closer bond than this. If he had stayed, their relationship wouldn't be this rocky, it got worse ever since the rise of the dead and these new responsibilities were placed on his younger brother's shoulders 

Somewhere, Jake blamed himself, like Troy undoubtedly, the most. Troy never really had anyone in his life, and now all these people were here depending on the Otto family, on them. The end of the world has brought their family closer, not with words or affection, but understanding. It was what their father allowed Troy to do what he did so easily - kill and murder - and look the other way. 

It was probably more out of guilt than anything else. 

Get right with the past, not by talking about it, but by acting as if it hadn't ever happened. But the scars on their bodies would always stay as a reminder that the forgetting about the past wasn't that ever easy. 

Jake hoped that with Troy able to do what he was prepared for -indoctrinated - with since young, he would change and get better. But from what he gathered today, Troy and his  obsession with the dead only worsened. This obsession would keep one person in particular at chance to suffer his brother's wrath. 

Talking wouldn't help, didn't help with Troy, so Jake would have to act. Somewhere he was glad Cristine brought all that she knew out in the open, because they and in extension the militia would be too busy with really prepping the Ranch for the new world. Jake needed to keep his brother so occupied, he'd have no time to think about anything else. 

It was the next best thing he could come up with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't really planning on writing a Jake POV for this chapter. It just happened and I found it fitting with the previous chapter as well, where Jake said he'd 'handle' Troy for the gazillionth time. He gets that talking doesn't help and kind of goes with the flow of what Cristine initially wanted; keep everyone busy, as they should, because their not safe in the least. 
> 
> Everyone's scheming on way or another. Hope you guys liked the bonding between Hailey and Cristine too, I actually have fun writing their relationship. It's a breath of fresh air from all the chaos happening.
> 
> Starting tomorrow I'll be on a break for three weeks so I likely won't be updating.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!!! I'm completely fueled again from my break. Thank you for all the sweet messages, I didn't realize y'all missed my story that much XD. I'm so glad to be back and writing again! Without further ado, here's the next chapter.
> 
> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters. So read at own risk.

Though Cristine wasn't used to the farm life, dawn was one of her favorite times. She didn't mind getting up early from the bed linen when the new rays of the day struggled through. Dressed in her freshly laundered outdoor garb and baseball cap, she strode to the gate area first. 

She and a few people were in charge of checking all the fence work. There was even new lumber to strengthen the weak spots. Both at the entrance and the cattle.

Fresh meat attracted the dead. The people and farm animals on the Ranch combined was like ringing the supper bells. If, by any chance the dead made it all the way here, horde or not, the fences needed to hold.

There was a system for more patrolling as well, but by the the core of the militiamen and women still did the gas and supply runs.

Since the new policies were implemented by the Otto's and fully backed by the Founding Fathers, most people realized they still had a lot of work to do. But they diligently did their parts and without complaints.

They even set up a new outpost, the one owned by Phil McCarthy. It was going to be used again so that they could cover possible inconsistencies. If he needed backup, he would be joined by volunteers.

No one was stationed near the other outpost yet, but Cristine had volunteered. From what she was told, it wasn't that far from some old Indian Reservation. Cristine didn't know the exact specifics, but until stated otherwise, no one would be assigned to man the place.

At the sound of an engine drawing close she looked up. One of the trucks delivered more wood for the barbed fences and Cristine got up to help unload the processed and unprocessed planks. 

As the day progressed, the weather remains the same. Sunshine in the bones, its heat radiating into the bright day. Cristine worked until her skin takes on a glossy shine on her complexion that bronzed over time under the sun. As she kept fastening the barbed wires together, the sweat didn't bother her as much anymore. It was actually a welcome addition, cooling and helping her to feel like she's worked hard; it's only when her feet come to a stop that she feels just how wet her clothing had become.

If Hailey saw her, she'd freak out. For a city girl, she and her mother were the worst at adapting. It was probably why they worked the kitchen and pantry so often.

"You're making progress." Cristine tensed in spite of herself, but she turned either way and with his hands on his hips saw her father.

It felt like she hadn't seen him in ages and keeping herself occupied was the best remedy to not think about him. It had been four days since Cristine last saw James. He wasn't even with Dolores during lunch time and Cristine guessed he was out drunk again.

"There's a lot of work that needs to be done and no time to waste." Cristine shrugged and repeated the task of grabbing a piece of lumber and using it as an extra support beam.

When she dragged the wood with her, her father saw it as a chance to help lift the heavy wood. She didn't protest or acknowledge his help, she just let him do whatever he thought would make him feel better. She smelled the liquor, frowned deeply and ground her teeth together.

Once an addict, always an addict.

Addicts made excuses a million excuses to cave in and do what they do. They had invisible masters. Ones that controlled every inch of their body, mind and soul. They needed to visit them a few times a day, otherwise they'd go insane. But they got even more insane when those masters had them under control.

That's why Cristine never drunk or smoked.

It was why she didn't want to be around her father now.

He'd say his empty words, she'd have stupid hope that he'd do better until the next disappointment.

"I'm not just talking about these fences. Your input and advice is really helpful and insightful. Not even I saw the gravity of it all, because it seems so far away... but it isn't."

"I can't be talking daddy, I need to work." Cristine said without looking at him and placed her focus on fixing the double wires through the next few feet of fence.

"I want to... need to apologize. What I said to you wasn't fair. I, I don't know what came over me." 

"You got pissed poor drunk and reacted like a victim."

Hard lines etched into Cristine's forehead and she really had to bite her tongue to say anything hurtful back. She had the habit of burning bridges with words that cut like knives, even in situations such as this.

"I'm sorry, Birdie."

"It's fine daddy... just-. We can talk when you clean up. I can smell you and I don't want Hailey to see you like this." Cristine's words were final.

"You're- you're right. Dolores will have my head."

"She'll blame me." Just like the tiny voice in the back of her mind did.

-

It was a long yet productive day. The fences were strengthened considerably. The vulnerable and important spots were done first. They'd finish the rest tomorrow and Cristine truly felt her strained back snap, crackle and pop when she got up to her feet and stretched the muscles.

"Good job everyone." The overseer, an elder man who was apparently a construction worker in the old world, acclaimed pleasantly. He tugged at the double wired barbs with his gloved hand and the extra wood that kept the fence posts up.

"Head back home now for a good night's shower, sleep and meal. Y'all deserve it."

With the setting sun came a sky of an orangey fire. It was the building scene for the gathering night, and someone commented that tonight would be a clear and starry night.

With each stride to her cabin, Cristine truly felt the strain in her bones and muscles. As the nascent darkness caressed her body, promising a new twilight, she unfortunately thought of her father.

But as those thoughts resurfaced, so did his drunk outburst, which made her abruptly pause in her steps. Cristine shut her eyes and inhaled a deep breath of cooling oxygen before steeling herself to only think of their future from here on in.

A future she would mould, defend, direct. Then with each stride after that she felt more in charge, in command of her own mind. She was a woman walking into a new life, a life that lay squarely in her own hands.

It was dark by the time she arrived at her cabin and in the quiet had become a chilly wind onto her skin. 

Cristine stopped, ears straining. Even though her cabin was among the ones further in the back, it felt like some empty movie set. She turned around, eyes taking in every detail, seeing things she'd never had the call to notice before.

There weren't many places to hide, everything was open. But there was something puzzling in the air and it was enough to send her hand to her holstered pistol just in case. It was like something was weighing her down on one side and senses were struggling to compensate for the lack of light.

She'd have to put some porch lamps or something.

Her mind became more clear, more resolute, as if the silent physical distance to her cabin had now become a chasm.

Determination urged her on. Face wiped clean, as if a screen had been pulled down to hide her emotions, she hurried along. Annoyance and fear sat heavy on her heart as she walked as fast as she could.

She saw the ambush coming-

It was too late, though.

Her eyes dilated and while she tried to struggle against the iron lock, the rest appeared in their uniforms. Led by none other than Troy.

He raised his finger, silently urging her to be quiet and purposely connected their eyes so she could detect his austere mood. "Don’t make a scene, I need you to come with us." He whispered in a low baritone, making sure that she looked at him and his non threatening stance.

Cristine’s hard breathing evened out and slowly, but gradually she relaxed her muscles and stopped fighting against the giant that was Coop. It was only after Troy signaled the man to release her that he finally did. Cristine felt her heart pounce in the center of her throat, but none of her panic showed outwardly. Her eyes did narrow in suspicion when she flicked them on the four of them.

"We can't waste anytime." Cristine took a step back when he was about to grasp her arm. The movement was quick and his fingers just brushed over the soft fabric of her sleeves.

"Leave me alone. We made a deal." Her hiss earned her some frowns and skeptical looks. Troy was the only one who paused and briefly looked around her cot.

"Listen, I know it's been a few hectic days and we all need to adjust, but this can't wait. It's important." The finality in his dangerously low tone blocked any room for questions or back talk. 

"This is the last time, I promise." He lied.

She glared daggers at him.

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be. We really don't mind being rough with ladies." Even with his warning, Cristine didn't budge. She simply bared her teeth at him and scowled.

"Go to hell."

A sigh and then, "let's go."

"Let me g-" Her mouth got covered by Coop's large hand, while his arm snaked around her stomach to lift her from the ground. Cristine writhed with her body, kicked her legs outward, almost hitting Troy, who leaned back to dodge the attack. She tried to bite so she could yell bloody murder, but his thick fingers clamped her jaw tightly shut.

Then she reeled her head backwards so that the back of her skull hit the front of his face. There was a frustrated grunt after the blow, followed by a hiss in the ear. "Calm the fuck down! We ain't gonna hurt ya!"

"Mhhm! Fkiuu!"

Cristine sat right next to Coop in the back of the pickup truck, while Troy drove. Mike was in the passenger's seat. They had taped her mouth and bound her wrists with zip ties.

When they truck stopped in front of the closed the gate, Jimmy who had guard duty coolly perused the inside of the truck and its passengers, not batting an eye at her predicament. Instead, he got in some small talk with the leader of the pack.

"We're going to do some hunting, make sure the perimeter is clear of the dead or alive." Troy didn't have to explain, but Cristine taught he did so just in case they would come across trouble.

"Taking the lady out on the trip as well? Doesn't seem too thrilled." Troy briefly looked over his shoulder, witnessing a bristling frustration that came in waves, but couldn't erupt because of her restraints.

He chuckled at her futile antics before shrugging at Jimmy, "well you know what they say, silence is golden but duck tape is silver."

"Good one, see you guys later." Jimmy patted on the door before he whistled at one of the new recruits to open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The buildup to Troy's descent as the mad scientist... hope you guys enjoyed it. Comment, feedback and vote. I love reading y'all's comments.
> 
> Surprise! You can read the next chapter too, because I was on a roll and I haven't written anything in like three weeks.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

Troy always had a keen sense for figuring out people; whether they were built for this world, whether they adapted to it or whether they were weak. With Cristine, he had ruled out the last option, even before all this. When he and his men first found her in the dessert on her lonesome. He saw it in her eyes; full of calculation and fight.

Still, it didn't mean he wanted to take her with them back then. She wouldn't fit in their community. But that picture. That picture saved her life and here she was. It was ironic and funny, but now that he'd observed the woman, interacted with her some more and read her journals, Troy saw similarities in their way of thinking.

The person that wrote all that down, probably fought by the skin of her teeth to arrive at this point in her life, wasn't there now. He detected the sheer obsessiveness in her scribbling, some so illegible, it was hard to read. Endless pages of scientific jargon and formulas, memos of actual people who suffered from the fever or those on the verge of dying. Testing on them with antibiotics for a way to cure them, save them, only to fail. She even timed a few.

Troy didn't believe she solely met the subjects on the road, she must've set up this place where she had the time to jot all this down. There was a clear turning point in her journey, because suddenly, she just stopped writing about the living and focused on the dead. Now, she realized there was no cure and that the world was as it is now; burned.

She brought her focus on the dead. Their ability to detect scents and differentiate between the living and the dead. How they prefer to feed on living flesh. Sight decayed over time for some, but they made it up with their heightened senses of hearing and smell. Darkness seems to have little effect on infected' senses at close range, and in areas devoid of light they could still find their way around as they would in the day. They felt no pain. Although slow and unintelligent when not active, they reacted quickly to sufficient stimulation, and rapidly overpowered a victim they had taken by surprise. Though their bodies were no more or less durable than a non-decomposed human body, they absorbed all manner of physical damage, even when badly decomposed.

Most of these findings were in tune with what Troy discovered. He gambled that she was outside when she wrote this, out in the wild and surviving. Still busy with the infected, but with the aim to stay alive. She must've been a real asset for whichever group she was with.

But somewhere along the line, as she wrote about the dead, Cristine abruptly stopped. At a point where she mentioned that as the dead decay, their muscles, and consequently, entire body, become slowly, but surely, weaker. It didn't explain how that happened, what the parameters were for her test or anything.

Troy was frustrated by the unfinished notes and that's why he went to her cabin that night by himself. Why he invited her for a cup of coffee. He really wanted to have this conversation with her, but she wasn't even willing to do that. It's why Troy ran out of patience with the woman. Part of this trip with his men was to pick up the test she didn't finish: timing how long it took to turn. She'd written down a few things such as gender and age from the scarce people she found that were on the verge of dying.

Troy was convinced there were a lot more factors that determined how long it took for someone to turn. They knew how the virus worked; a form of meningitis, but the answers to how long it took and why they spoiled remained a mystery. The last question was the most crucial in his opinion. But there needed to be enough data before that with more parameters than just gender and age.

Troy wrote down his own list. How healthy or sick someone was mattered; which meant knowing their medical history. Height, age, BMI, race, blood type, genetic makeup, their diet etc. He narrowed it down to those factors and today was actually the second day he and his inner circle would test this. If they had enough data, the next step would be to figure out why they spoiled. Why did some turn faster or slower than others?

But he needed Cristine for something important, something she would definitely fight against even if it was for the same science she was so well-versed in. Troy couldn't comprehend she just gave up on this research. It was unfathomable to him that the person in the seat behind him was the same one that wrote all this down.

Now that person would be a tremendous asset to their cause. He'd even look past her appearance if that person returned. She spoke so clinically and rational about things... but sneered at them in disgust in that same sentence. Ire aimed at himself and his men. Clearly, she didn't approve of the human experimentation and Troy had the sense it was because of some moral compass she abided by.

That good and bad hypocrisy right there, that, pissed Troy off.

-

"Troy," Mike called, snapping his best friend out of his deep thoughts. "This is the place."

The humming of the truck ceased before Coop and Mike stepped out, while Troy remained in the driver's seat. Glancing at nothing in particular, Troy coincidentally met the woman's gaze in the rear view mirror. He chuckled to himself to see her so lost and tense this whole drive.

"We're not gonna kill ya."

Her dark glower narrowed and if looks could kill, well, then Troy reckoned he and everyone in the truck and beyond would be dead. This guard she put up was just comical, it really gave him the urge to smash it into pieces. But before that, he'd keep her on her toes at all times, like a cornered little mouse.

Troy barked, "hey Coop! Be a gentleman and put the lady in front. Can't have her think this is how we treat our women." There was a mock to his comment, they wouldn't treat their own women like this, definitely not. But she was something in between that.

When Coop opened the door, a foot shot in the direction of his stomach. He easily avoided the kick, but there was a barrage of them that came his way. Clenching his teeth, the burly man cussed in annoyance. Should've strapped her damn legs while they were at it too.

In the front, Troy rolled his tongue over his teeth as he waited for the struggle in the back to come to an end. His left arm languid on the pulled down window opening, while the fingers of his right hand tapped on the top of the steering wheel.

The truck shook from the struggle in the back, but Troy didn't give any indication of stepping in. There were more grunts and a loud thud of a body being dumped. Blue irises darted in the direction of the side mirror where he saw Coop wrestle with the woman in the dirt.

"Mpfhf!"

"Dammit! Stop fighting or you'll have another thing comin'!"

The whole ordeal took less than five minutes with Cristine's utter defeat, but a red faced and puffed Coop dragged her around the truck, before roughly shoving her in the passengers seat. Unfortunately for Cristine, the sole of her boot thundered into the door at the same time as it slamming shut so her kick missed.

Troy moved his jaw from left to right, a thoughtful movement that didn't mean much. In those wasted seconds between stand off and fighting, the victim of his interest was in a frenzy. Her face had a sheen glow perspiration, wrinkled up, colored with an acid rage. When Troy wanted to reach his arm out in her direction, Cristine, pressed herself to the other end of the space as far as physically possible, and mentally snapped.

His hand hovered halfway through the stretch and Troy tilted his head, his mind a surging curiosity when scrutinizing the woman. Her animosity hung high in the air like sparks and her whole body language just spoke volumes to him.

Don't touch me.

"I just want to remove the mouth gag. It looks really uncomfortable and I figured you wanted to share your piece with me."

Like a cynical cat, Cristine remained in the same spot, even as Troy invaded her space with his arms, her writhing thorny and cheerless. Troy's curled fingers faintly brush behind her ears so that he could pull the gag down. It was swift and he even held his palms up to show that he wasn't up to anything bad.

Cristine's glare sucked something out of the air. For being physically restrained, cornered and with no escape, her mannerisms brought the temperature down every time she was in his presence. With her mind running a mile, planning her safety extensively. She never looked away either, full focus on him, just him, never blinking.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Troy His fingers drummed evenly in the leather of the wheel. His gaze fell to her lower body, on her tense legs. "I noticed your leg's healed. Good." He nodded, words casualy, as if he wasn't the reason for that happening.

Cristine kept her mouth shut, but didn't leave him out of her sight. He brazenly returned the stare off and in that moment she knew that the man she thought she could figure out was nothing more than a character, an act.

Troy and his erratic behavior made no sense to her, she doubted it even made sense to himself. At twentysomething, the same age as her, he had the attitude of a child. The world revolved around him, he saw no points of view other than his own and was wary of strangers.

If she or anyone looked mad or unwilling to do as he said, he assumed it selfish of the party, no other explanations occurred to him. But it wasn't just the cool blue eyeballs, it was the intelligence behind them that did it. In the gap between his eyes and hers a battle was fought and he trounced them without a flinch. He was at an advantage after all, she just had to keep up. Protect herself.

"You think I'm gonna hurt you?" He asked with genuine curiosity.

"You already did. Remember that incident in my room? You tried to kill me."

"That last one wasn't me. I never would've risked the Ranch and my people because of a silly game." He admitted.

If Troy was lying, and Cristine wasn't a hundred percent sure, he did a damn good job. Her wrists rubbed into the hard plastic of the zip toes, a circle of red and purple began to form. The pain tickled her mind.

"Unfortunately, I'm not the winner of night vision binoculars." When she caught the twist of his lips, half way to forming a smirk, a deep scowl pulled down at the corners of her mouth.

"Why should I trust anything you say? You keep lying to me."

"I'm not." He shrugged.

The incredulous scoff that escaped the back of her throat was loud. Just to prove her point, Cristine raised her bound hands, "you promised shit like this wouldn't happen. After that stupid game, you tie my wrists, kidnap me in your truck and are blackmailing me to do your bidding."

"The deal is that we help each other." Troy clarified.

"The deal was that you'd leave me be in return for what I knew about the dead." Cristine argued.

"This has to do with the dead." His eyebrows were quirked, as a seriousness flooded his features. "At least the process. My guys are really impressed by that footage. It motivated them to finish the tests and collect the data that you lack."

"By experimenting on people who're trying to live? Really noble." She sneered towards the end, she could sense his sick curiosity in her by the way his beady eyes squinted. Cristine couldn't help but want to jump out of this truck out of pure instinct and run from this situation as fast as she could, but with Troy she had to put more thought into her words and actions.

"These are complicated times," Troy explained as he watched looked forward again at nothing of real interest. "People are worried of the unknown and need hope. Something the militia wants to provide."

"So you go looking around for people to kill?"

"It's not about the killing." A sigh as he rolled his eyes and explained, "it's about the time we have when saying goodbye to loved ones before coming back. That's the only comfort that can come out of this."

Something itching inside Cristine told her that that wasn't Troy's reason, not really, but he'd convince himself and the rest that it was. What did he care about others and their feelings? What did he care about comfort? No, he did this for his own selfish goal and Cristine had a guess about what it was.

"That what your father wants?" Her brows were furrowing as her thoughts raced. This was the weakest excuse and most feeble explanation she ever heard. They were literally using sentiments as an excuse to act like barbarians. And adding data that she lacked? What the hell did that have to do with anything, let alone comfort!? Cristine had timed people's resurrection, yes, but they were either bit or on the verge of dying... she did not actively seek out people to kill if it wasn't for her safety. If they didn't attack or attempt to murder her first, that is.

That's why Cristine wasn't flattered that Troy was so invested and in awe by her previous occupation. At this point, her job and what she knew didn't matter. Yet, he and the militia were trying to find something worthwhile in the dead. She only used her knowledge because it was all she had to offer this community of bigoted Preppers. And because it helped her stay alive for so long.

"Why did you stop writing about the dead?" Troy took note of how vibrantly her eyes lit up in that silence.

"Because finding my family and surviving mattered more than anything." Her eyes snapped to meet his as his mind processed her words.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read! 
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

 

Note:  **"...."**  =  Foreign language spoken ( **Spanish**  unless specified otherwise)

 

Troy tilted his head to the side, browsing her mien for any hints of an answer before voicing his another question.

"Why were you separated from your family?"

"..."

He scratched the tip of his nose, as if prying into people's personal business was something normal. "Hailey ignored me and Dolores just sounded spiteful. I talked to them, but coming directly to the source is more efficient."

"None of your business."

"It'll help me understand why the evil stepmom is so angry and wants to make your life a living hell here. It'll make sense why you still stay despite knowing that this isn't the place for you, not really." Troy waited for her features to contort into fury or irritation or something else... nothing.

Troy briefly looked at his hands, while picking at his nails and finally puffed out a breath that deflated his chest. "It'll explain why you'd risk crossing the state for a father that couldn't even bother taking his child with him to one of the safest places that's still standing."

 

The harsh words said came from a stranger, but their severity still managed to elicit a reaction. Cristine looked away and twisted her raw wrists into the sharp outlines of the zip ties. She rather hurt physically than listen to some half baked analysis from a socially unfit man-child who was homeschooled in becoming a racist.

Troy watched the side of her face, jaw taut and muscles rigid. Looking closely at other subtle responses to his words darkened his face. The rapid flutter of her long lashes and the way her throat moved from a quick swallow was all the confirmation he needed. It was brief and almost insignificant, but he'd managed to detect a sliver of whatever it was she hid.

Frustration.

Still, Troy was impressed by the tenacity of his passenger. Regulating her emotions in such a way that it left people stumped. "Sucks doesn't it? When you're not wanted. The idea of it is nice though, the fantasy that they still do despite it all. Still, family is all you got and you never hurt them back, not even when they hurt you."

Cristine lowered her eyes to the dashboard and slightly sucked in her cheeks as the words penetrated her mind. "No." She felt her loose, shoulder length curls brush against her nape and cheeks from shaking her head.

"You get your shit together when you realize it's all just pretend. They pretend that you're defect and need to be fixed and disciplined so they don't have to feel guilty about the things they do." Her voice was prickly, the volume low and there was the faintest sense of her disassociating with the thoughts rumbling through her head.

"Sometimes, you pretend with them and other times you put them in their place. It keeps 'em sharp. Keeps you sharp." She twisted her head, meeting his critical gaze once more before she flashed a smile of her own, the simper an exact copy of her father, deep dimples and all.

Troy scoffed at her words with a shake of his head, but didn't respond to them. Instead, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of the car. Looking through the windshield with the utmost focus, he seemed to be waiting for something or someone.

Cristine partially knew what she could expect. He'd confirm it during the time he demanded to discuss her journals. The type of questions he asked her back then, didn't leave much to the imagination as well.

They were all related to health disparities. Variables such as life expectancy and incidence of diseases in certain populated areas were asked. Urban areas versus the more rural ones such as the Ranch. If Troy wasn't such a lunatic, Cristine would've been impressed by his ability to keep up with her explanations and his questions.

He even asked about single genetic disorders that could differ in frequency between different populations and if that was also the case for the virus. But the recurring questions that unsettled her the most were the race and ethnic-specific ones.

White. Black. Asian. Latino. American Indian. Pacific Islander.

For not claiming to be a racist, the questions that spewed out of his mouth were eerily focused on that. While his main priority was to time how long it took someone to turn from either a bite or non-bite, aka a fatal injury, these questions were prejudiced. Troy assumed by default that one of the essential difference in the pathogen would be primarily based on someone's ethnic and/or racial background.

In her line of work that was never the only reason for a virus to function, usually the disparities were not clear, and should not be understood as an essential difference between race, but rather as effects of social and environmental factors.

"Get out of the truck." Cristine wasn't aware that she was so lost in her thoughts until the night chill slithered from her side. To her right, the door was pulled open from the passenger's seat and she saw Coop casually standing there with a cocky smirk.

"Time to get to work."

Cristine silently rubbed her wrists after the zip-ties were cut off. The usual singed-brown desert was now a dark blue hue from the stark nightfall. The scrawling sounds filled the air at night time, but most of the land was flat and barren. Only the odd brittle bush broke up the emptiness of the desert.

Blake and Willy were also present and Cristine saw them rudely drag down people from the back of the truck's bed floor. Covering their heads were burlap bags. She could hear the whining of a children, the shushing of a man and the sobbing of a woman.

Cristine barely registered what was happening, until she saw the men stand in a tactical manner. They surrounded the family with their riffles loosely hanging around their shoulders.

The inky darkness got scattered by the truck's taillights, the family of four its focus, diminishing all hope. Now silence lingered in the air. Cristine shivered from the icy air and waited for the next move, tersely eyes flickered to the man in charge.

In his left hand, the same journal she saw on their first unfortunate meeting, balanced in his palm. He scribbled down silently in his book, as if he was the only thing in existence. That's how absorbed he was with his writing.

Cristine wet her lower lip, the tension in her body and the intensity of her heart increased with each passing minute. She glanced at all of them one by one until one person in particular held her attention. The clenching of her gut twisted into a acrid pressure as the smooth, jet black instrument around the man's neck caught her eye.

The binoculars that rested on his chest taunted Cristine. A muscle at the corner of her right eye twitched involuntarily, her mouth formed a rigid grimace. The man in question, Willy, clearly saw her face contort but he smiled amusedly at her.

"Alright, take off the hoods. We can start." Before the stare off could form into a conversation, Troy his order made Willy and Blake scuffle into action.  They tore the burlap bags from the four heads and revealed the frightened and anxious faces of the marked family.

 

-

"Male, 6'2", 190 approximately 45 years. Female, 5'4", 140, approximately 40 years. Female, 5'2", 120, approximately 16. Male, 5.4, 125, 15." Willy listed all the statistics of the four, the sobbing left him and the rest of the group unfazed.

"They speak English?" Before asking that, Troy glanced in Cristine's direction.

"Not enough. Never had the chance to improve my level 1 Spanish. I think they keep begging." Willy's answers were as indifferent as Troy's questions about the people themselves. They talked about them like they were samples, not human beings. A means to a dumb, selfish and sick end.

"Fortunately, doc over here understands Español perfectly. So lucky us."

"I don't." Cristine answered, not missing a beat and glanced at the leader in question with her brows furrowed. "That's why you brought me here? To be your interpreter? I don't know who shared that lie-"

"Your stepmom, actually." Willy piped in, his voice cheerful and he sized her up and down. The way he gazed at her wasn't any better from the family on their knees. "Confirmed it with your old man, just to be sure. He won't lie about his blood."

"And yes," Troy interjected, making her twist her head in his direction again. An instant smirk, cockiness radiating off him that he was and would always be the one in control. The one that was a step ahead of her.

"You just have to translate a few things. Break down a few uncertainties and you can be on your way." Troy finished, as if his explanation would somehow change her mind.

"No." Her answer was clipped.

"Man, this is bullshit!" Willy snapped and in his annoyance marched up to the woman. It was frightening to see a person switch so easily over the simple fact that he couldn't ascertain his control over others.

Unafraid, Cristine met the ruddy blond halfway in his stride. She wasn't going to back down because they were with more, armed and demanding. She groused, itching to cause some form of physical harm herself.

"You think you know it all you uppity bitch?" Willy invaded all of her personal space in an attempt to intimidate her. Several harsh emotions flickered through his eyes till he finally seemed to settle on a hatred so deep it didn't make any sense.

"I know more than you assholes," Cristine looked at him up and down, clearly unimpressed by his existence, long and hard. He was a small man with a big mouth that could only parrot the things his leader said.

Willy spat to the side and sneered, "you're a damn joke. Parading around as if you got it all figured out. You should keep in mind who saved your worthless ass in that dessert."

"You still butthurt because my sister rejected you?" Cristine faked a full blown smile that didn't match the taunting words. Clearly, bringing that up flustered him and that's why Cristine was both physically and mentally prepared for that slap that came her way.

These people were violent barbarians after all.

Cristine couldn't grab his descending hand and even if she did, he'd overpower her strength wise. So she hit his Adam's apple with her fingers. It was quick, effective and immediately disoriented Willy, who bend over and wheezed from the sudden attack. Then, Cristine grabbed his little finger and ring finger with one hand, his index and middle finger with the other, and bend his wrist forward.

A high pitched yell bubbled from the back of his throat, before he dropped to his knees, stunned and helpless. Cristine relished in the man's pain and asserted more pressure on his already awkwardly bend wrist.

Willy howled.

"Break them up! Cristine let him go!!"

Yells broke out. The men rushed forward. Troy shouted orders. The foreign family cried and got rowdy. More screaming. Two hands tore Cristine from Willy, while four others held their cussing and frenzied friend on a leash.

"You better watch your back, you damn half breed waste! I'm gonna skin you alive and finish what that geek in your room didn't!"

" **Go fuck yourself!**  I'll cut your balls off next time you try to lay your hands on me and feed it to the dead." Cristine's cusses weren't pretty either and she clawed at the person who lifted her up in the air like some bag and dragged her to the truck and dumped her in the back.

Cristine's body thudded into the truck's bed floor and the steel. Her knees and palms cushioned most of the impact, but the throw still hurt. She got over the pain and quickly scrambled to sit up and scowled at the equally vexed Troy.

"Would it kill you to cooperate for once?!?"

"Tell that your friend!! If he gets in my space and raises his hand again, I swear to go-"

"Enough!" Troy hissed, a great deal of emotion behind that single word. He threateningly stepped closer, something Cristine wasn't receptive of and she spat on the ground between his boots.

"Each and every one of you are cowards." Her tone was clipped and her body language guarded.

"Watch your mouth." Troy snarled, "we're making progress here. Better than blindly killing. What we're doing is important." His hand shot out and gripped her arm in a vice like grip and saw barely any reaction to being in pain. Troy needed to drive fear into her, so she understood her place in all this and the necessity of what they were doing.

How else were they going to understand why they spoiled?

"And then what? You're gonna concoct a cure and save the world? This whole thing is a joke and a waste of time."

"You're repetitive and it's becoming boring. I actually anticipated a thank you for picking up your work. So if you're done acting holier than thou, suck it up and just translate."

Cristine grimaced as his grip further tightened. A gleam flickered within his demanding and dark eyes. On the lookout for her agreement, he didn't give her much, but a final chance to step in line and conform to his demands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to end it here. So, uh, next chapter will be triggering. So read with caution and at own risk. Cristine is going to get a rude awakening and Troy will be Troy...


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mature and triggering themes will be present in this story. It's The Walking Dead universe, so that's to be expected. So if you're easily triggered, offended or sensitive, don't read!
> 
> I won't be placing any trigger warnings in my chapters.

Note: **"...."** =  Foreign language spoken ( **Spanish** unless specified otherwise)

 

Troy was put in charge by his father for a reason. Put in charge of keeping their community safe, put in charge of what he could do best. The approval in his father's eyes when he returned from their first fuel run; satisfied he found a way to use the dead. That was a good day.

He needed more of those.

This position handed down to him by his father, given to him when big Otto believed he was good and ready. His father who trained him for a chaotic world, of what he predicted would become the fall of human civilization; not in the form of the dead rising, but something else entirely. But fall it did.

Their home became a community after that. Their fellow Survivalists required safety, were in need of a place to call home. They had that now, but his job was to always give them that sense of security. So, Troy needed to be the one to finish this important work. Use the knowledge to protect his people.

A frustrated exhale at the stubborn woman. Her hypocrisy appalled him, her criticism slowed down any progress they made and it was clear that she either forgot or didn't care about her blood relations and their safety.

This tug and pull war was a redundant, and made his blood boil. Their stare off interrupted as he caught a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of his eye.

Willy.

The ruddy blond was livid, but he wouldn't do a thing without Troy's approval. The two men had a silent conversation, one that decided the fate of their prisoners.

Rolling his tongue over the inside of his mouth, Troy glanced back at Cristine. She'd obviously tried to follow the contact between them, but the second his attention was back on her, she fiercely returned the glower.

Her black eyes, never soulless or lifeless. It was an endless depth of ink, fight and defiance. The palm of his hand twitched on her arm, pads of his fingers gripping and curling into the fabric of her sleeved shirt.

  
"People die Cristine," Troy said, "it's what they do so we can live."

**POP! POP!**

Cristine didn't expect the sudden gunshots and her eyes stretched in size, her face paled and gut clenched when realization hit her. The muffed sounds that came from the prisoners jolted her from her three second daze.

No!

Troy watched the explosion of emotions unfold on her face and she began to struggle in his grip, that only turned firm. It was fascinating to see these quick changes in someone's state of mind from a simple shift in the situation.

He didn't get her; why was she so concerned for people she didn't know? They could be bad people who'd done bad things. People who wanted what they had. Having people like that walk around was a risk and Troy wasn't going to allow any risk of any kind on the Ranch and jeopardize everything. Not even Cristine's warped sense of so called morality.

"Let me go."

"You want to save them?" He asked with a tilted head.

Cristine didn't bother answering his question and struggled some more to get out of his grasp. She elbowed him in the ribs and shoved him back as she grappled with Troy.

"Let me go." She growled again, shoving him away.

Troy scowled, not releasing her until she answered. "Is this what you want? Think about your family. "

"Let me go!" Cristine bend her left arm at the elbow, shifted her weight forward, and struck Troy in the jaw. It made the grip on her surely bruised arm, loosen and allowed her to jump down the truck and sprint towards the commotion.

Her expression worsened when four arms gripped her and her world turned upside down as she got slammed into the dirt. Through watery eyes she saw the lopsided and frozen face from the boy staring right back at her.

"It's cute you want to save them, but that won't do." She groaned when her arms were forced behind her back and her hands fastened by the zip ties. "Like our boss said, the work we're doing here is too important."

Cristine didn't take her eyes off of the family once. The father was struggling around the most, as if possessed. His agony, hatred and intent to kill so palpable in in the air, guns were aimed at the man.

"Tell him to calm down or we'll take the rest out and have him as a snack." Willy purposely dug his hand into the tendons of her back, so that it hurt and broke her concentration away from the family with no hope. The worst they'd do to her was physically hurt her, she'd live to see another day. But the four individuals in front of her weren't so lucky.

Cristine wouldn't be part of this. It'd be the same as pulling the trigger. It was her fault this madness happened in the first place. If she didn't have her journals or share that footage this wouldn't have happened. If it wasn't for the fact that she had opened her big mouth about her job, the virus or made a deal with Troy, this didn't have to happen.

"You're going to kill them either way." She spat and muffled the scream that tickled at the back of her throat. The pain took over a portion of her brain, as if having to think of her fuck ups wasn't enough, and the gray matter blocked any new thoughts or ideas of forming. It was the sort of pain that burned, like her muscles were on fire.

"True," she heard the nonchalance in Willy's voice from above her. "But now it won't mean a thing because of you."

"Go to hell- ngh!" The grains of dirt scraped into her face.

"You are a heartless one aren't ya?" With one of his hand wrapped around the scruff of her neck and the other clamped around her bound wrists, Willy dragged Cristine to the family of three and pushed her down on her knees in front of the father.

Blake ripped the tape from the man's mouth and he immediately began to rattle in his mother tongue. Desperation, anger, fear but mostly an need to kill these savages was present.

"Shut up!" Cooper slammed the butt of his gun in the side of his face and a painful grunt left his mouth. The muffled and exhausted sobs of his wife and daughter stifle the air.

"I'm giving you one last chance bitch." If Willy was the one calling the shots now, it meant Troy approved... Cristine expected him to be taking the lead in this, but he was just observing everything, like it was a movie on play.

His silence was the same as giving the green-light.

From the corner of her eye, something in the sand twitched. A limb or two spasmed, a faint growl and the nickel eyes popping out from that sunken face.

The boy resurrected and Troy barked, pissed as if they missed something life altering, "time? Who timed it?!"

"Thirty-three." Blake answered nonchalantly, "a lot quicker than Cameron. By twenty minutes is my guess."

"Well, this one's older so we can't make the comparison." Troy answered.

"We need more information." Willy piped in and Cristine visibly winced when his nails dug deeper into her exposed neck.

 **"Please stop! Let my family go! Take- Take me instead. Please tell them stop!"** Wide, pleading eyes remained on his last hope; Cristine. While the woman was in the same boat as himself and his family, he also noticed that they brought her here with a different reason.

Water eyes begged the equally quivering ones to do something within her influence. **"Please, they already took my precious boy... if it's something they want, let them take me. I'll tell my wife and daughter to go back. They won't cross the border again. Please, I know you understand me."**

She saw the pain and agony in those eyes. Once again, her emotions turn jagged and her insides tight. The man talked, wide eyed, heart in his mouth, hoping for mercy and a chance. Tears and snot trickled down his face.

**"Please! Please! Tell them! Let them take me!"**

Cristine wanted to tell the man that it was no use, that they'd kill him and the rest of his family anyway. Given these monsters, they'd even kill him last.

 **"I'm begging you! Have them take me!"** He roared, the rawness in his voice actually send shivers up her spine. Having someone beg to her like that, begging her to let him die for his family made Cristine take a sudden intake of breath. It wasn't until Blake's annoyed snarl that she jolted back in action.

"I told you to shut the hell up!" Blake was ready to beat the man again.

"Wait, wait!" Her voice was much louder the second time and Cristine swallowed thickly when there was only the sound of the muffled grunts and sobbing.

"Yes?" Willy drawled lazily, the amusement clear in his voice. He knew she'd finally relent one way or another.

He briefly glanced in the direction of Troy, who finally stopped writing. He had to say, he was committed to the job. Even in all the chaos, he never stopped writing his observations about the turned subject.

Today was their first field day with non-turned subjects. It had taken the militia a while to find a group they didn't have to kill on sight, weren't turned by a bite or already dead. The process was clumsy and slightly disorganized; courtesy of their most favorite member. Troy let her off with a lot of things, things they'd normally already killed for. But she had knowledge and she needed to share that with them first, they had to wring it all out until she wasn't needed anymore. Willy was convinced that with his leader's intelligence and command, that wouldn't take too long.

When Troy first shared that footage with them, Willy was in complete awe, even more when Troy explained their purpose and what it would mean for the Ranch. What they could do for their loved ones in this mad world. Willy was just excited to accomplish something worthwhile, the killing was simply a bonus to him.

Unlike in the old world, Willy had a much clearer purpose now, like many of his old and new friends in the militia. Their circle was small, but tight and the people they protected were so grateful for them risking their lives on a daily basis. That's why Willy didn't like, tolerate, let alone respect the woman.

But she'd given up and understood her place in all this.

About damn time.

"I'll translate if you let the mother and daughter go."

"You don't get to make demands." Willy rolled his eyes after sighing deeply. "We need the reference material and a baseline to start from. I don't have to explain something as simple as that, doc."

"You killed that little boy and timed him with no reference either. You murdered him because you were pissed and needed to prove something. You can let these two go. They haven't done anything wrong."

"You don't know that."

"They're not the ones holding your family under gunshot are they?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O__o, next chapter will be the climax of this all. Expect a Cristine you've only seen in my -Cristine- chapter so far. Why do I make my character suffer so much? ☹🤨
> 
> As usual, tell me what you guys think


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter, but this will be the turning point for Cristine, so brace yourselves 😪

"They're important," Troy piped up when put his journal back inside his pocket and stalked in the direction of the rest. He'd done enough watching and writing for the night. When he heard Cristine's plea, he couldn't help but roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of it.

The snarls of the young boy was grating through the ear and in his stride, Troy unlocked his gun, cocked it and pulled the trigger. The bullet shot clean through his collapsed cranium and the weak whimpers and sob made his indifferent, but sharp eyes narrow in the direction of the woman and daughter.

"We need them for research."

They were huddled together, looked worse for wear and didn't have much on them. The family was dirty and bony from food deprivation. He frowned, convinced that even if he agreed to Cristine's request, they'd die either from a lack of food, thirst or the dead.

Right now, in this moment, their deaths had purpose. It'd be a mercy provided for them too. Not from the goodness of their hearts, but because it was kill or be killed now.

Troy looped his hand through his tactical vest and in a shrugging motion explained, "we just need you for the translation. Determine if they have any ailments in their immune system or conditions that can influence the results."

Two dark eyes look up from her prostrated position on the dirt. They were trained on him and as he looked closely they were clinched with disgust. She probably wanted to either run for the hills or to a weapon, but like expecred Troy saw the spark of determination wavering.

"Not them." Cristine gestured at the two female's with a shake of the head. The glint of her previous defiance mellowed and Troy secretly relished in that. She was on their turf, at his mercy, and Troy could do whatever he pleased at this point. Translation or not; they could kill the rest and just time it.

But Troy needed a structure to collect a basic data set.

With an exasperated sigh that betrayed his impatience, Troy raised his hand before rubbing at the faint hairs on his chin.

"Why?"

"It's what the father wants."

"Why do you care?" He asked her with curiosity, he didn't care for the appeal of a dead man. While secondary, Troy wanted to know what drove her to want to help strangers. He let out an understated sound and stated, "they're skin and bones; sick individuals and frankly already dead."

Cristine felt the chill travel through her veins, but it never made it to her face. She wanted so desperately take a great leap and run to safety. The adrenaline surged so fast, she almost felt the reflex to gag. Beads of sweat trickled down her browline.

She had a hard time reading him. His face - relaxed - curious to hear her answer. His body posture determined. Troy would do whatever he had in mind, no matter her answer. He played as long as it took to create havoc, drive her made and then do all the things that disturbed mind of his concocted in the name of 'science' and 'protecting his people'.

Words Cristine heard too often to take serious anymore.

"It's triage. Don't think you're too unfamiliar with that." He briefly inspected the family of three one by one. This time, the father piqued his interest and a lazy smirk stretched on his lips, "we time him first so he doesn't have to see the end."

Cristine saw Troy signal Blake to cock his riffle on the man's back. He started to speak to his wife and daughter while puffing his chest out and preparing for his death. Red-rimmed eyes and a shaky breathing, but the man showed no fear if it meant saving his last two family members.

**Click.**

**"Don't worry Carlita, Noella. God will protect you from the dead. I'll be joining Jaime in heaven soon."**

"What's your hypothesis for all of this?" Cristine quickly blurted out, her brains raced so fast the words rolled down from her tongue before even processing it.

**"Papa no-"**

**"Sweetheart we need-"**

"Did he smoke? Drink? Ask if he has blood pressure or diabetes. Take in any meds or steroids in his life.." Troy ignored her question in favor of his own. Cristine was like an open book to him now. She was panicking and stalling to keep the hope high that she could still safe anyone.

With a clenched throat, Cristine talked over Troy again quickly glanced at the poor family. "You don't have the right instruments to create a testable hypothesis. There's a million more factors you haven't taken into account. Trying to find out how long it takes for someone dead to revive doesn't determine how long it takes for the infection to spread or the time a bite activates the virus."

"Blake make sure it's a clean shot in the chest-"

**"I die but my soul does not. I love you and bless you-"**

"Please! You don't have to-"

Cristine felt like she was rambling and didn't make any sense. She held back the tears that glossed over her eyes. She refused to. Didn't want them to see her weakness, didn't want to draw more panic from her own insecurities and desolation. But most importantly Cristine didn't want to be so selfish when a family was to be executed in front of her eyes.

A gasp-

**Click. Click. Click.**

The moment Cristine and the Mexican family heard the empty magazine clicks of Blake repeatedly pulling the trigger; the rambling stopped and explosive faces realized they were being toyed with…

Toyed by sadistic animals who just learned haunting.

That moment when the silence was filled with chuckles, was when Cristine felt truly helpless and alone in the world.

Like the times since she was all on her own surviving and killing in the wasteland.

Still frozen. Cristine briefly had eye contact with the equally confused and emotionally wrought father. He shook his head and it was as if he'd truly realize the fate of himself and his kin. He didn't have to speak the same language as them to understand that his outrage, begging and protecting his family had come to an end and was futile.

Cristine saw Troy draw close and it wasn't until he completely blocked her view that she looked away from the family and up at him.

 

"Now that we established everything: as in you do as I say, you answer to me, and get back in, we can make some real progress. Understood?"

In spite of it all and the hatred she felt for Troy, Cristine wouldn't be Cristine if she didn't put out her condition into the mix, "I'm not part of any of the tests."

Willy snorted in the back, still gripping the skin of her nape tight, sure to leave a nasty bruise, "you still don't get it do-"

Troy silenced the honey blonde with a raise of his hand and looked at Cristine with amusement. It would be boring if she went fully meek, but at least he knocked her down a couple of notches.

"That's what we agreed to in the first place, right? If you didn't break your part of the deal by going to Jake, you wouldn't be here." His voice lowered an oncate, "I need you to understand that this is the first and last time I let shit like this slide."

Troy just needed to show Cristine that. So when he saw her clinch her jaw together, placing the pieces together, he saw realization dawn in her eyes. She was also fuming. The outrage, the disparity in power, the jurisdiction in his voice angered her. But she only had anger and that wasn't going to save anyone here.

 

-

My men and I do the experiments. You answer to me and enlighten us with  knowledge of the dead. Put it in good use to show your worth.

That was their deal.

And like the leader he believed himself to be, Troy took the initiative to put down the father. Cristine forgotten, sat near the truck on the dirt as Mike guarded her.

They wanted her to see everything unfold. Arms between her pulled up legs, Cristine's entire demeanour turned grim. It was a rather sinister sight to watch them talk and behave as if they weren't murdering a family.

Cristine watched it all, her rage cooled significantly till all she felt hid behind a mask of cool apathy. The air was heavy with gunpowder and iron and a faint shiver ran across her skin as she remembered her brief moments in the dessert with them.

She remembered all their sneers. Remembered how each man looked at her like she was a less than and they were the kings.

Cristine her gaze drifted to each of the guys in the open air as they chatted casually and even heckled as they joked.

Waiting for the time of resurrection.

How could they simply decide to just take and murder someone they didn't know and watch them die? How could they turn off that switch of humanity? Now Cristine wasn't a saint ether and done her fair share of things, but she didn't go around looking to kill for the sake of killing.

Because to her, that's what this all was. And that bull excuse of science was just pathetic. She wondered what the people back at the Ranch would think if they knew what the militia really was.

Her drifting eyes clashed with those of the frightened girl's and she started pleading with her, asking her help and before she could so much as register step, Willy had a rifle butt thwacked onto her head.

Brown skin, dark hair, held captive. Cristine wet her lips and saw herself in them or rather, she saw what could have been her fate.

That thought chilled her to her very bones.

"Alright that's resurrection at 01.17, mark that down." Troy rose from his hunches and wiped his hands on his pants. He'd scrutinize every change, the lifeless gray that spread to the eyes as the father revived into a geek. Deep in thought, Troy chewed on his lower lip.

"The father turned quicker than I thought. 57 minutes. He's an average guy and pretty weak from the lack of food, water and sleep... does it have to do with how riled up he was? Emotions are but a chemical reaction of the brains. Does that overrule my hypothesis."

Troy's theory was simple: the weak and sick turn slower and the strong and healthy quicker. He primarily based his deduction on internal factors, before the external ones. So what happened inside one's body and immune system was the most important. The other specs such as height, weight, age, etc. helped to calculate the timing more easily.

Maybe he had to fix his formula.

Or was the father just an anomaly... it was all too early to tell. These were the first subjects and they needed to collect more data.

Troy ordered for the daughter to be put down next and Willy was more than eager to do the honors. The eery grin, teeth bared and all, was just sickening.

"So doc," Willy couldn't help but call out as he pulled the safety of his gun, "how long you reckon until she comes back? Given her stats, I'd say a bit longer than the boy. Forty minutes tops."

Cristine her hands clamped tightly over her kneecaps, as some looked at her in curiosity. If she squeezed any harder, her pants would rip. Cristine looked at Willy as he held her tight glower, even when he pulled the trigger and the small body dropped to the ground.

 

-

Cristine didn't know how long everything took, but her brains worked overtime to process it all. Her body too tense and guarded to move. It was an unspoken rule that she watched it all or at least heard the sounds and their  discussions.

Despite an entire night passing into dawn, she hadn't responded much after. It simmered in the back of her head, quietly, prowling, waiting for the moment everything went quiet in the dessert.

There was a soft kick against her boots and Cristine held her bubbling feelings at bay when Willy pointed at her bound wrists with zip knives. 

"Let's get those off doc, you're breaking your delicate skin." Cristine slowly looked between the knife, Willy and then at her wrists. She'd purposely dug the edges of the hard plastic into her skin. The imprints of the zip ties were mostly on the surface, but there were a few deep indents and cuts. Other than it needing to be cleaned and wrapped, these bruises would be a reminder for herself and the family in the dessert.

Slowly, but gradually, Cristine shuffled to her feet and grimaced when Willy none too gently grabbed her fists so he could cut her binds. She though that with that he'd be bored with her silence and leave, but that wasn't the case.

"If you're into things like that, you can drop by sometime," he ushered in a low voice smiling at the injured skin of her wrists. She saw his sadistic entrapment grow as his eyes took their sweet time to imprint the blemishes on her skin and in particular the purple necklace around her nape he'd given her.

"Don't make it too obvious though, you're not my usual type." Cristine's face scrunched together so fast she almost vomited and tasted the saliva thickening in her throat.

"Why don't you go to your friends and keep jerking each other off?" Cristine growled, her glare full of fire, "given that that's all the action you'll ever get."

"Jealous I didn't give you attention for the night?"

"Nah," she looked him up and down and spat between his boots, "just relieved Hailey dodged this bullet." The smirk on his lips faltered and Cristine noticed that Willy really liked her baby sister...

What a joke.

It was petty, but other than hurting his fragile male ego, Cristine had no other dirt or leverage over Willy. 

"She might be young, but she can pick you out easily. Inbred white trash, I mean." She pronounced clearly and in less than a flash got slammed against the nose of the truck and had a knife against her neck.

"Say something else," Willy urged, but he wasn't going to kill her. Not without Troy's okay.

"Why don't you fuck off all the way over there... you dumbasses still need me."

"Not for long. Tonight was all us."

"Right and what did you exactly learn? Because that was a fucking mess. You're grasping at straws here. You'll never have fair results, because you idiots are riling them up and that's gonna make the data subjective, because you always have fear in the equation. There won't be coherence and you'll just have killed people for no reason other than getting off on it."

"So go ahead and do your best, you fucking coward." After that hiss, Cristine boldly pushed her exposed neck forward, drawing a red line when the cold edge threateningly cut her flesh.

There was no hesitance, rationality or fear in her action. Besides, it was the second third or even fourth time, in the span of an hour, that Willy chose to toy with her.

"What the hell, you crazy bitch!?" Wide eyed, Willy quickly drew back the knife from sinking deeper into her bleeding flesh and harshly pushed her against the front of the pickup truck and half over the hood. Seeing the way his mouth twisted into a deep scowl and gritted his teeth was almost comical. He glared at Cristine and sneered at the undaunted fierce gaze she threw back at him.

"Just slit my throat already, boy scout." Cristine said in a tone that just sounded tired with this whole cluster fuck of a night. It wasn't enough that she was dragged out of her cabin just for a point to be made. She had to watch as they were executed, revived and then permanently killed. Now she also had to take shit from this piece of work that wanted to show off in front of his buddies?!

Like hell.

Willy twisted his jaw, felt the eyes of his comrades on him in suspense. The sight of the unimpressed woman under his mercy rattled him just a little bit and that tiny feeling made him decide that he'd do just as she wanted. Troy hadn't stepped in once. They had everything they needed to know and they'd figure the rest out themselves.

"Well, who am I to deny a lady's wish." The tip of the knife barely slipped into her skin, drawing more blood until a strong hand wrapped around his wrist and stopped Willy in his tracks.

"That's enough flirting you two." Troy sighed. He waited until one of them would back off, well- until James's daughter threw in the towel. Willy, like him and the rest of the militia, simply wanted her to understand that she was in their territory and had to play by their rules. Obey his commands. This was just to rattle her, but the woman rather act like some saint and judge as if she was better than any them. She wasn't. He could tell as much from her demeanor and callous eyes.

Troy fully ignored the woman under knifepoint and stared at Willy. It was long, hard and meaningful as if in silent conversation.

The air was so brittle it could snap, and if it didn't, Willy certainly might. He'd be damned if he'd get one over by a damn half-breed who strutted around as if she was all that. But the grip around his wrist remained firm, Troy's glower mellow and Willy swore he saw the other man fight back the smirk on his face.

Slowly, Willy acquiesced the silent order and a lazy scoff left his lips. "Sorry about that boss, you know me with my temper and all. I just wanted doc over here to know that we're not savages. Just trying to keep our people safe." Willy sheathed his knife back in its casing at his side and the grimy smile he showed his victim.

Troy nodded at Willy, agreeing with his words. Platitudes weren't going to cut it now. A week ago they discovered that everyone was infected, the panic was surreal and it was his father that brought peace and order to the Ranch again. Fighters for the militia increased, they even set up an organized outpost through McCarthy's home. Everyone was pulling their weight, but this disobedient reject wasn't cooperating and Troy had more than enough.

"Yeah," still nodding his head, having come to his decision, Troy looked at Cristine. Her dark eyes narrowed, flicked to his comrades suspiciously and landed back on him. She resembled a cornered cat with the way her whole body tensed and he pursed his lips to prevent from showing amusement.

"Since our disease expert can't stand us, we'll spare her the crowded trip back." Troy saw her exhale; her entire form relaxing instead of stiffening. Not the response he expected, but she had nothing on her, so he doubted she'd flee.

Besides, she still had her family to worry about, he'd made that promise to her.

Not one to waste any of his time on the glowering woman, Troy addressed the small group. They round up their weapons, supplies, and as if she was invisible, left Cristine by herself in the middle of the night miles away from Broke Jaw Ranch.

 

She watched the vehicles size turn smaller and smaller until, only the remains of dust and the dead bodies was her company in the night. Cristine glanced around the dark, listened for any unnatural sounds and looked over her shoulders.

Finally, an ugly sound left her mouth as she walked towards the murdered family of four. Her hear beat every single pound in her chest. Through her ears, she didn't audibly hear it, this great pressure in her chest, but she felt it.

They shot the mother last, made her watch as her husband and children were murdered in cold blood only to return and ended like some animal. A gnawing in the gut of her stomach as she watched the blood seep through the center of the single shot wounds through their skulls.

Cristine pressed the back of her hand against her mouth and nose. She pushed down the hard painful lump in the back of her throat and roughly rubbed the tears that fell from her sockets.

She was alive and others weren't.

Her breaths came in gasps and she felt like blacking out. The dessert field spun as she pathetically dropped down on all floors on the ground, trying to make everything slow to something her brain and body could cope with.

She felt unexplainable sick and she wanted to-

Blergh!

Cristine would describe her vomiting as a kind of purging, as she felt compelled to do it. With one violent contraction the congealed contents of her stomach emerged in the night. She weakly wiped at her mouth, acidic residue forming a shiny patch on her sleeve, before she retreat to sit on her behind. Breathing out from exhaustion, she weakly looked at the corpses and forced her body up to move and scuttle forward.

Drained knuckles from clenching her fist too hard, and gritted teeth from effort to remain silent, her hunched form exuded an animosity that was like an acid - burning, slicing, potent. Her face was flushed with reeled in anger, but Cristine eventually calmed. Her breathing hallowed itself and a small but intense chill struck the top of her nerve.

Before she knew it, Cristine was digging through the earth with her hands.

Time fast forward again. She couldn't remember the briefest of moments, all she saw was the four heaps of dirt, her own dirtied and bloody fingers and stained blouse. Shaking her head, Cristine recognized her own voice repeating in her mother's tongue, **"I'm so sorry."**

After paying her respects, Cristine rose and saw that she was cast in crimson, bathed in a rosy glow; dawn's early light came on the horizon. Moving her fingers through the air that grew brighter with each passing moment, she inhaled deeply. The oxygen passed through her lungs, her bloodstream and bones, primed and replenished.

Cristine wiped the dirt from her hands and stood up. With a last, strange stare at the nameless graves, she began her trek back to her personal ordeal that was Broke Jaw Ranch.

Since the outbreak, Cristine had worse; people that tried to end her like some feral animal because they felt like they could. The rules of the world hadn't changed. It was just that the lines of what was moral, savage and humane blurred. She agreed with the concept that it was kill or be killed, but not against defenseless people looking for a safe place.

Not like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my most difficult chapters to write so far. Honest feedback is very much appreciated. What did you guys think? I really wanted to make this the turning point of the story for Cristine and have her realize that she's in over her head. Also, Troy's just done with it all and had to show her who is in charge and power.


	23. - End Book One -

Cristine barely made it back for breakfast, but decided to skip the first meal of the day altogether. Her appetite wasn't there so she decided to just go somewhere since the Ranch was large enough to minimize contact with people. In particular, any of the geared up wannabe soldiers - at least for today.

She washed, changed her clothes,  bandaged her wrists and covered her neck with the highest collar she could find with a button up.

Cristine ended going to the pantry and decided to spend the rest of her day here. She saw Gretchen and approached her. "Mind if I take over?"

The teen, jumped a bit and holding the clipboard against her chest, cocked her head to one side. "You missed breakfast," she said

"I went out to get some fresh air first. I wasn't that hungry." Cristine shrugged, the lie rolled naturally down her tongue and a ghost of a smile thinned her lips, "show me?"

Gretchen was kind, a bit naive, but a good kid. She was one of the better ones around the place and that was giving the Ranch too much credit already.

Placing the clipboard in her hands, she took Cristine through what needed to be done. "You don’t have to finish it all today-"

"It's fine, I want to. I just need some peace and quiet for today." Cristine interrupted her with a shake of her head. This would occupy her for most of the day and that was just what she needed.

A distraction to filter all the filthy air and feelings clinging around her.

"Ok well, I’ll leave you to it." She clearly wanted to say some more, Gretchen's face a light twist of worry, but nodded in defeat. Despite the awful stories she heard from Mike, Gretchen trusted her instincts enough that she could safely leave the place in Cristine's hands.

 

-

"She's back." Willy mused bored as the group sat together and finished their food. The ruddy haired man smirked as he swallowed the last of his coffee.

"Leave it. We got work today." Troy said and began with taking his tray. Troy would normally enjoy the games they played, but today wasn't the time and place.

According to his father and Jake, a lot of chores needed to be done on the land. Fences needed to be finished, patrol schedules had to be put in place and policies enforced to keep the Ranch up and running. Not only from the dead but mostly the living.

He didn't want him and his men distracted.

He finally put Cristine in her place yesterday and further research just had to wait.

According to Mike, who had the news from his sister, James his daughter was hiding in the pantry. At first, he wanted to drop by and assign her another job, but decided at the last moment not to.

He'd let her process it, until she'd come running to him.

 

-

Cristine's day was busy. People came in for lumber, weapons, bullets and other tools. Still, she carried out the most mundane of tasks today. She had tried to let the chores completely occupy her mind so there was no room left for to stew on the events of last night.

But, as hard as she tried to focus on her job at all times, Cristine found her mind drifting. She smelled blood and it would trigger multiple memories that weren't just of last night. She remembered the first place she was in; an emergency base and how it fell. Then there was the place between, where she had to kill people for the very first time in her life.

She and her group came out with half the people they went in. Cristine vaguely remembered her separation from her small group and she worked had to suppress all of those memories as they brought about a cacophony of emotions in her.

Exhaling, Cristine tore a fresh piece of paper from the clipboard and with itching fingers began to write down the mess that was her mind.

_1). The continual decomposition of infected may take years, if not centuries._

_While the turned decompose, it is not by the rules as we know them. Autolysis - the process where a cell’s own enzymes begin to consume it – is not stopped or reversed. The other aspects of decomposition such as purification and insect infestation, though significantly slowed continue as well._

_With thjs knowledge, there are four things I can say about the decelerating decomposition:_

_First, the virus provided the cells with some nutrients._

_Second, the immune system, still manages to function to slow human bacterial flora from consuming a turned host._

_Third, it can be presumed that while some cell division continues, reparation and restoration are lost._

_Fourth, the virus likely only preserves essential functions, allowing irrelevant parts of the body, such as skin, secondary musculature, and some organs to decay._

_Conclusion: the virus itself must consume flesh to some degree, rendering the zombie’s metabolic processes incredibly inefficient and explaining the insatiability of a dead one._

_Broke Jaw Ranch adaptability #1: over time an infected that hasn't 'eaten' has shown to grow weaker and barely responsive to its surroundings. Such infected to ward off potential migrating groups in our direction and scouting purposes._

Finishing the last paragraph, Cristine folded the piece of paper and slipped it inside her back pocket for later.

When she'd give it to Troy.

Unfortunately for her, he had her exactly where he wanted. Cristine wasn't a fool and he knew that too, so she'd give him what he wanted.

Knowledge she'd never written down. The information that didn't matter to her anymore, but was still inside her head. Info that did matter to Troy. So Cristine would play dumb and meek again.

This just needed to stop and after last night, she was out of ideas.

 

-

Troy pursed his lips to prevent from showing his surprise. It was almost night time, but he didn't expect Cristine to come knocking at his door so soon. It was one of the few times she approached him. Ever.

It meant that he won this round.

He won and she lost. And it was a good feeling to have the upper hand.

Troy needed her, yes, but this would be on his terms now. He wouldn't tolerate her stepping out of line, fighting against him or his men and more importantly go behind his back.

Troy decided if she could stay or if she could go. If her family was safe and sound in their little cabin. The sheep might be easily influenced, but not the militia and definitely not him. What she knew was impressive and asset to the research, but yesterday he needed her to know that that knowledge wouldn't be her saving grace.

Troy's eyes flicked to the white bandage wrapped around her neck that she tried to hide with her buttoned up blouse. He ignored the way his gaze lingered and almost felt itching to see the wrappings.

He himself might have had plenty of altercations with Cristine that turned physical, but it was mostly to disarm and not purposely leave lasting bruises.

What sort of place would that make the Ranch? They weren't savages and he was not the leader of one.

"Evening. What can I do for you?" Troy lazily rested the weight of his body against the doorframe with a curious look and an amused twinkle in his eyes. It was a surprise to see her here and despite the rigid posture of her body to maintain confident, Troy was more than pleased to see the frustrated look in her eyes.

It felt as if he finally had her under his thumb, which didn't neccesarily mean she'd give up indefinitely. Now that- that would be very boring and Troy wouldn't be half as interested in her.

Even if she did know so much about the wasted.

If Cristine had seen his long gaze, she ignored it and reached for her pocket to fish out the scribbled paper of this afternoon. "A prevention tactic that can be used to keep the dead away. The burning will help, but this can scare away any unwanted visitors and it's portable."

Troy processed her words and before he knew it, swiped the piece of paper from her hand. As he unfolded the information, Troy quickly read it and this time a smile flourished on his face. It was such a big and blinding one, it was hard not to see the childish innocence in it.

Cristine was chilled by it and fought back the urge to ask what the hell was wrong with him? Just half a day ago, he murdered people for science. This smiling and excited Troy was an oddity with disturbing goals and obsessions.

Especially, when it concerned the infected or anything that really piqued his interests.

Troy had the right leadership skills to organize runs with the militia, train the recruits and fix things, but everything outside of that scope was just a whole mental and physical trip.

It was chilling, but yesterday in the cold dessert was when Cristine finally met the real Troy Otto and saw the depth of his coldness. A man with interests that were cruel, merciless and just plain savage. Things he someway always managed to rationalize, even if most of it ever made much sense to her.

Troy looked back up from the paper, his stance a lot more active and interested. "How would we use them for scouting purposes? Wouldn't our fresh smell give it away?"

Cristine coolly added, "whenever you want to test it, we can."

With his lips faintly parted, Troy peered down at Cristine with a faint glower and asked, "just the two of us?"

"Don't flatter yourself." Cristine scowled deeply, "if I wanted to kill you, I'd do it more discreetly. I'm an infectiologist, so I know what can make someone so sick, they'd beg for their death."

Troy remained unfazed by her words, still amused and now lightly fascinated by the anomaly that was Cristine Gerrard.

With a curt nod, Troy responded in a relaxed tune, "new policy states that runs should be with at least two people. My guys are exicted too, so that makes this the perfect bonding trip."

"Like I said, don't flatter yourself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, this was the end of At the Edge of Misery. My very own season finale. 
> 
> I had such a fun time writing this book. All the feedback comments, library ads and votes were just so motivational. It really made me do my best to write even better. I think I did a pretty good job for my first ever published work on AO3 with so many new friends, so 🥰😋♥️ to everyone. 
> 
> I want to thank Pretty_Little_Crazie in particular for being with me since the start. You really kept me going!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> You're not getting rid of me that easily 😋
> 
>  
> 
> Keep your eyes open for Book 2: Children of Violence


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